


Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton

by Soprano_Reaper_777



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angel Hierarchy, Angelic Magic, Angelic weapons, Angels, Bayonetta terminology and references, Cardinal Virtues, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Demon Summoning, Demons, Epic Battles, F/F, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Fortitudo - Bringer of Flame, Iustitia - Giver of Life, Laguna - Freeform, Laguna - OC Angel Devotion, Laguna - OC Angel Innocence, Laguna - OC Angel Passion, Lumen Sages - Freeform, M/M, Name Changes, Sapientia - Controller of Seas, Some Humor, Sonic Unleashed setting, Supernatural Elements, Temperantia - Manipulator of Wind, Tragic Romance, Umbra Witches - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soprano_Reaper_777/pseuds/Soprano_Reaper_777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver is a fledgling Lumen Sage working as an apprentice to a parish priest in the hamlet of Lucia. Though he's never disliked the position, he has been curious about the big city outside that tiny village. So much that he decides to go there all by himself! But a staggering upheaval arises on Earth: The Mother's Material Child is distressed by the declaration of war between the Umbra Witches and the Lumen Sages - both being dichotomous Earthly clans that serve Inferno and Paradiso, respectively. Their reason for conflict is unknown, but Silver is soon thrown into the fray when a deified being speaks to him about events that took place in the distant past...within the span of his birth. :Verse 16 UP!: I/P</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preamble

**Author's Note:**

> Jun Yabriel: Hello, all! My name's changed yet again, but I'm still the same old me! Here is the third installment to my "Main-Man Hedgies" Collections, featuring Silver the Hedgehog. As the installments before it, this fic will feature angels and/or angelic elements. (More of the former than the latter, actually.) In relation, Silver's installment may most closely relate to real-life angelology, to the extent of actual angels instead of angelic elements (TJ&TF) or angelic powers (PoA). Kind of a step up, isn't it? Well, I do hope you enjoy this chapter. Another one is on the way, but I'd like some reception first. Just so I know I'm doing something right, y'know?
> 
> Comments are appreciated! Kudos are awesome, too! Thanks!

**Preamble – Fledgling Modesty**

 

* * *

_“Lonesome messenger, I have given you a most remarkable gift. To solace your wails of solitude I have bestowed upon you the voice of a thousand of My most beauteous Choirs. Your song shall echo throughout the Firmaments, calm My Earthly Children and ease their hearts, as well as your own, my lonesome messenger. Your Song is Mine, and so shall it lift and resideth in all hearts I have created and deemed good.”_

* * *

 

 **Lucia** , on Spagonia’s grassy outskirts - **Sunrise** …

 

New light heralded the missioners awake without any need for clarions. The friary floors glistened in wakefulness. Morning had arrived. Sleep cycles fulfilled, a handful of holy men went to their designated sectors of the Lucia Mission. One went to awaken the small cast of orphaned boys for morning repast, while another headed towards what looked like a kitchen. Timid knocks reached three distinct double doors, each with an elaborate crest. The knocks were answered in accordance. At one a tall, rotund white habit appeared from behind one door. Above it, a purple cat’s whiskery cheeks plumped up.

            “Good morning, Brother Stylo,” the cat guffawed after a grand bow.

            In shy return, the silvery-white hedgehog bowed. “Good morning to you, Father Sigmund,” came the remark, with a quieter smile upturning his mouth’s corners. As well as his canary-diamond eyes.

            Morning repast began: Leading the brotherly congregation in blessing was a fairly elderly echidna, donning the most ornate robes out of the adults. The other two, the big cat and a hoary albatross, bowed their heads in prayer. Other missioners, including the orphanage principal and his twenty-odd charges, shared a meal together. Stylo dished everyone their helpings by rounding the heads’ and principal’s tables with different foods before eating his own. Thanks sparked around each table, which resonated into compliments, even after he’d sat down. Soon after, a post-meal prayer dismissed everyone to their daytime duties.

            Stylo departed alongside Father Sigmund to follow the orphanage principal. Not too far off from the mission’s established plot was a schoolhouse. A wrought-iron palisade surrounded the foregrounds. Seeing the toys and playground equipment made Stylo reminisce a bit. Inside, pews of young boys—perhaps from seven to twelve years old—recited assigned readings for both their principal and Father Sigmund. Stylo assisted by helping the boys out with the next Sunday’s readings.

            After that was done, Stylo walked back with Father Sigmund to the Mission. Those graceful doors welcomed them in beyond their humble oaks and irons. The Lucia Mission itself wasn’t as prominent as its neighbors. Previously unknown to campaigners, the ones who did notice it chose to stay and help it grow. Multitasking in more than one area, Lucia was very busy for most of the day. With all the current occupants, things were rolling off to a good start. Besides the mission itself there were said orphanage and schoolhouse, as well as the chapel attached to the mission, a small library, and an outpatient clinic. Busy mission-worker bees from morning till night, they were. Most worked together in cohesive and collaborative squads, while others more distinctive took up solo or more authoritative helms.

            Like the parish priest, Father Nestor. He was the spearhead of the project, of Lucia’s success. His dream of building a home for all who sought deliverance—be it physical, emotional, or spiritual—had become a reality. It was something he strived for even since he was a young man, like Stylo. And he’d been taking care of it since he’d grown into a man, thanks to a generous endorser. Perpetually composed and patient himself, Father Nestor saw similarities between his and Stylo’s spirits. There was something about the boy he could never put his finger on; so he left it to spiritual eyes to see. Father Sigmund felt the same way, but was more involved with Stylo. Much akin to a father to the white hedgehog, the Maine coon was much younger than he looked. With a sense about him that the head priest couldn’t sneeze at Father Sigmund was considerably more sedate than his brother-in-command. Father Pieria had his own way of doing things. Executing tasks on time was a big thing for him; if scullery wasn’t done by 8:00 PM, he would surely give the “wrongdoer” quite a tongue-lashing. His buff chest couldn’t be challenged, so most of the youngsters didn’t. Without Fathers Sigmund or Nestor to diffuse his temper, Father Pieria would be a walking time-bomb.

            But Stylo knew better than that. He respected and admired his superiors, even with their earthly imperfections. As the sole fledgling Lumen Sage, his peers wondered how he fell under such good graces.

            A few good stretches brought Stylo back into focus. A hardy sigh preceded a just-as-hardy smile. “Time to work on the dining area.”

            Rolling a sponge mop in its pail, Stylo proceeded to the supper hall. The white hedgehog started with swiping the floor down, then moved to the tabletops, chairs, and counters inside the kitchen alcove. Now in the scullery, he let out a victorious huff—“Hah! All done!”—as he set the cleaning supplies away. He washed his hands, diffusing the ammonic fumes, before leaving the scullery, kitchen, and supper hall. A broad bay window allowed enough daylight to beam into both kitchenettes. Taller lancets did the same for the supper hall. Out of one, Stylo gazed.

            Clouds moved. Wind blew. Flower petals shimmied, pollen glided to meadows farther away. Birds journeyed through. It was a good time to be springtime. The Earth had taken its time rousing from the cold solstice. Now, instead of building snowmen with the orphanage boys, Stylo could play water-tag with them. It was time to break out the easels and paint as well, since the boys could paint outside again. Two in particular really liked how active and fun Stylo was. Miles, a twin-tailed fox considered to be a “veteran,” found it cool that the Lumen fledgling didn’t mind his genetic mutation. In fact, the fox’s wit was praised over everything else. There was also Shelby, a young bee that Father Sigmund picked up on his way back from Spagonia. Whenever he wasn’t boasting about being more capable than “adults” like Stylo, Shelby was being made fun of for his name. Stylo, however, would reassure him with a childhood aspiration of his: to have his own sanctuary, a “ledge estate,” that overlooked the sea, and if it was ever built he would name it after Shelby.

            A tiny smile brightened the Lumen fledgling’s countenance.

            Lucia Mission wasn’t extravagant in any way. It was pretty simple, compared to its bigger sisters and grander brothers. Situated on multiple relatively small plots it had a church, an orphanage, a library, a school, and a tiny clinic. The hamlet of Lucia wasn’t any bigger than it was. Due to this, its Mission was the one place with running water, indoor plumbing, and power. It ran like all the administrative, academic, religious, and civil headquarters Spagonia had, albeit tinier and crammed into a single building.

            Stylo realized how important it was for him and the other boys to be well-behaved. There were a few troublemakers, without a doubt. But Stylo was neither a bible-thumper nor a bible-tramper. Everyone was entitled to their own opinions; even he had no right to judge.

            At the same time, though, there were so many things Stylo was hearing about: Philanderers, murderers, crooked cops, terrorists, pedophiles, and conmen—to name a few. From where he saw the world he could only nod his head to whatever the higher-ups said. Despair with them, pray with them, and then hope with them again. Stylo knew he couldn’t truly know those things if he hadn’t experienced them for himself.

            There was one thing he remembered asking Father Sigmund about that was never answered. Stylo was about seven years old when he asked. A couple hours after his Hermetic Arts practice, Stylo entered the Maine cat’s quarters with a big book in tinier hands. Said cat had been sipping something hot when the little hedgehog came shuffling in. In a hurry, too.

            The robes obviously too long for him, the book plopped atop the sofa just when Stylo tripped.

 _“My dear boy, what’s the matter?”_ Sigmund had asked, pulling the boy back up to a stand.

            A bit flustered, Stylo threw his hands on the book cover. He beat both palms against it in strong emphasis. But the bigger cat looked confused.

_“Father, Father! What is a Witch?”_

            “…I don’t think he ever answered that, either.” The smile on his face dimmed. “But I can always talk to Father Sigmund. About anything…right?”

            In the Mission’s library, countless encyclopedic volumes lined the shelves. Multicolored, multi-patterned, gilt leafed, embossed faces, engraved spines—they made the library vibrant. And, thankfully, Stylo was a reader. Quite the avid one, actually. If he had the time he could sit and read for hours. And even though he wasn’t on anybody else’s clock, his solitary trip to the book-hall was of great importance. Stylo sat beside sunlit bays. Page after page, information poured in, what felt like, reams. It was a bit too much at one time; but Stylo knew what he was looking for.

            “Let’s see…? Huh?”

            What he wanted was absent. In fact, it may have been in a different volume. A completely different text. So Stylo got up, went back over to a shelf, and poked spine after spine. Until he found a notebook. Battered leather, weathered by age and heavy use, Stylo supposed. The edges looked frayed, but it was again assumed to be wear-and-tear.

            “What is this?” Curious blinks. Then, honestly curious canaries peered at the opening inscription:

            _“I’ve been a journalist now for over twenty years, always aiming for the guiding light of truth, always pushing forward. I’ve believed that communicating the truth is the core tenet of all journalism, chasing it until my legs turn to rubber and the truth is burned into my retinas._

_“They say that some things come at ‘the cost of your life,’ but to me, truth is my life. In this age filled with lies and deception, I forever pray that truth will shine its light on the path of righteousness.” - Antonio Redgrave_

* * *

“…Antonio Redgrave. Hmm, a highly respectable name,” Father Pieria admitted, stroking under his beak. “He was a world-class journalist, wasn’t he?”

            “Excuse me, but… _was?_ As in, _past_ tense?” Stylo worried.

            “Yes, indeed, dear child.” The wise echidna, Priest Nestor, combed through his beard lightly. Awaiting at his side was a wooden cane, classically knotted like an old martial arts master’s. “He has long since passed on.” He gently patted the journal’s cover. “But, Stylo…?” Turning the pages, the elder asked, “Have you glimpsed at anything in this book, Antonio’s Notebook?”

            Rendezvousing in a secluded study, the three mission heads absconded Stylo inside. The study’s curtains were pulled together, as if the leaders feared someone would peer in on their discussion. Other trustworthy missionaries supervised the orphaned children and handled minor affairs while in conference.

            Shelby was coloring in a drawing of his when he noticed a turquoise crayon rolling over the edge. “Oh no ya don’t,” came an automatic yelp and lunge. Only to catch it too tightly. Impressed, but saddened, by his own strength Shelby’s lower lip quivered. The tiny utensil had snapped into clean halves. “Aw, but you were one of my favorites….” he whimpered in a low, sad tone.

            “I only read the inscription in the front cover, Father. From what I can tell…” Stylo smoothed a hand atop the other. “Antonio Redgrave sounded very well-learned and intelligent. A bearer of many great accolades…like you all.” He threw a hand to the back of his head. “And so incredibly honest and virtuous, too! He wasn’t a Lumen Sage like me, was he? Could’ve fooled me…!” An embarrassed chuckle.

            A soft _plop!_ came from the notebook closing. Both Father Pieria and Sigmund clasped their hands together, tighter. Soon, a gravity had weighed down the light atmosphere. Stylo’s chuckles subsided; a more reserved glower took over.

            “Dear Stylo, my boy…I cannot say he was. But Mr. Redgrave was exceedingly knowledgeable—and curious—about them. As well as the Umbra Witches.” A _tok!_ of Father Nestor‘s cane echoed a bit. “We, ourselves, are not Lumen Sages. We bear not their powers nor titles. I know the ways of the Sage somehow, you must be wondering. An old man teaching you such splendid arts? It must truly confound you.”

            Stylo stiffened. Gripping at his robe. “Y-You’re not? None of you…are Lumen Sages? Well…” A soft sadness had entered those downtrodden canaries. “I guess that makes sense. Since you all joked your way out of showing me…moves that don’t exist.”

            “It is not that they do not exist, young Stylo. Neither Sigmund nor Pieria could show or teach you such advanced movements.”—The priests in question bowed his head and huffed a guilty snort, respectively.—“And I am past my prime, dear child, so all I can do is pass on my knowledge.”

            “But how can that be? You took me under your wing in studying the Hermetic Arts. I learned _everything_ from _you,_ Father Nestor!”

            Stylo was silenced. Ordered, by the elder’s hand, to hold his peace.

            “You are a genius, Stylo.”

            Canaries brightened. Both excited and confused.

            “With my verbal instruction alone, you have mastered Light Speed, the Hermetic Arts, and proven yourself proficient in utilizing Chaos Powers. With this many powers, you must uphold yourself—tried and true, as well as with much caution. Your powers are not socially acceptable, and your duties as a keeper of those techniques entail never leaking them, sharing them, with anyone. In fact, from now on, it is best to refer to yourself as an apprentice under my name.” The old man smiled. “You’ve learned not all that you seek, my boy. I’m sure you’re still curious about other things…?”

            Stylo’s gaze crept from the journal sliding closer to him back to the elder’s smile.

* * *

An unassuming messenger bag was being packed: His wallet, a tiny bible, a pocketknife, and Antonio’s Notebook. Stylo worked quickly, checking the long-case clock every now and then.

_“There are other things I’m curious about, Father…but if I ask,” A steely indifference shadowed his eyes. Brows dipping slowly, “will you answer me?”_

            Tenderheartedly, Stylo kissed the envelope in his hands before placing it atop his freshly made bed. Morning glimmers left the floor and furnishings sparkly, as if no one had ever set foot inside. Meticulously clean, even down to the wood’s grain, the Lumen fledgling made his departure and closed the door quietly. Adjusting his bag’s Y-strap Stylo tapped towards the front doors. Passing the mission’s kitchen, dining hall, infirmary. Outside, Stylo scampered off the premises. Trotting through Lucia, Stylo recalled all the Mission’s plots without looking back.

            Sunrise kissed his cheek as he dashed outside the hamlet’s limits. Florid meadows surrounded him. Grasses couldn’t scratch his calves due to his ankle-length robes. A cumbersome inconvenience, thought Silver. So, reduced to a trot, Silver cut away his robe’s lower front, to cure his immobility. Soon after, he'd thrown the pocketknife into a stream.

            Just in time, too: The train was coming. Lucia wasn’t big enough to be considered a scheduled rest stop. It did always feel like the train coldly passed by the tiny village. Refusing to acknowledge its existence.

            But that was going to change. Really, really soon.

            “Let’s cheat a little,” Stylo snipped under his breath.

            Then, like a bolt from the blue, Silver utilized a most prized Hermetic Arts technique: Light Speed. A lag slowed the area around both him and the train. Superhuman movements and reflexes allowed him to catch up with the caboose without trouble. Pouncing like a cat, he took roost upon the caboose’s roof. Time returned to its normal pace, and Stylo blinked a little. A quick glance backward proved it, with Lucia flying towards the horizon. Excitement filled his head: _“I really ran away…! I’m leaving…and soon, I’ll arrive in Spagonia, the City of Art and Knowledge, and Lucia’s ‘big sister.’”_

            Citrines brightened in the rising sun’s light, and that of a rising optimism. Blinking out of his reveries, the white hedgehog felt the aerodynamic gusts ballooning his face. “Maybe I should get inside,” he chuckled under his arm-shield.

            Empty, as per usual caboose; Stylo huffed a grateful sigh. Making his way through, he began to prioritize. He figured he’d need a disguise—a change of clothes, at the most. Something less obvious, something trendy, “hip,” perhaps even “cool.” He was clearly giving himself an excuse to shop. A convenient excuse, if he said so himself. _“Spagonia’s_ huge, _so there’s gotta be a_ ton _of places to shop!”_ Stylo could’ve sworn he was ready to swoon at the mere thought of it. _“It sounds like so much fun!”_ Suddenly giddy like a toddler, he bounced up and down in his seat. _“I can’t wait! I can finally be a_ normal _young person, now!”_ Excited faces, shaking fists, and sparkles for eyes: Stylo’s new life was about to begin.

            In the City Where One Could Know Beauty and Find Beauty in Knowledge.

 

 

In Fledgling Modesty, Amen.


	2. The Presence of the Father

**Verse One – The Presence of the Father**

 

“Wow! This place is _huge._ ”

 

 **Spagonia Train Station** \- **Morning** …

 

Welcoming Stylo was a grand lobby. Broad and antiquely delicate, the train station’s stonework let incomers wander around. Benches upheld weary travelers, but Stylo was too excited to be weary. Even the birds were welcome; perched high above, childlike canaries spotted a dove couple. Gleaming sunlight brightened everything. The windows were grand, tall and wide. The morning light felt mystical. Electronic boards and posters attracted the attention of a few people.

            Speaking of whom, one thing Stylo noticed immediately was that the other Spagonians were near-transparent. Spooked, he jumped a little. “What in the—?”

            “Welcome to Spagonia,” announced a prerecorded voice. An intercom broadcast? She continued on, explaining things in regard to travel safety, security measures, and the like. At another startled jump, Stylo wondered if any of it applied to him. Better yet, how to make it apply to him.

           “Umm…let’s see…” Stylo stammered, turning every which way for somewhere to duck into. “I…just need to, uh…!” Then, after a light bulb’s flicker, “Bathroom!”

* * *

            The white hedgehog reemerged. The coy men’s sign pranced in its still-shot. It didn’t seem like anyone noticed him; was he still invisible? Making his way back onto the portico, he recounted something Father Nestor had taught him:

            _“With your level of skill, you can freely meander in and out of Purgatorio,” the old echidna explained, gesturing accordingly. “It is the technique used to walk back and forth between Purgatorio and the Human World.”_

            Stylo sighed. _“Whew. Good thing I remembered.”_

            The only exit was through a security gate. Soldiers were geared from head to toe, as well as armed. The one he greeted was concealing his weapon, obviously. “Is there something big going on today, officer?” Stylo asked.

            “Yes. A religious convention hosted by the Ithavoll Group. It should be getting underway soon, so security has been enhanced. Please present your traveler’s permit.”

            Stylo’s heart dropped. He gulped. “I, uh, I am _so_ sorry. I don’t have one.” After digging through all of his messenger bag, he didn’t have the first thing he’d need upon arrival.

            A sour grimace crooked the guard’s mouth.

            “Umm! If it’s any consolation, though, here’s my ID.” He handed him a tiny, laminated card. There was nothing significant about it: Only Stylo’s face, name, date of birth, and rank were displayed. “I belong to the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I’m studying under Father Nestor—!”

            “This piece of documentation is insufficient, young man. Please step back.”

            “Huh?! But, sir—!”

            “Step out of line, please.”

            Slinking back, the twenty-year-old hedgehog allowed a woman awaiting with her child to take his spot. Utterly dumbfounded, Stylo was at a loss of what to do. Panic edged into his mental processes: _“Oh no! Stylo, you dummy! The one thing for you_ not _to have—of all the piddling…Gah!”_

            “Hey, you. Need a Visa? Just go over there.”

            Stylo’s eyes caught sight of a cowboy hat. He then caught on to the cool amethysts underneath. Somehow, a godsend had been sent to him. After a friendly tip of the brim, the red echidna sauntered off. Over one shoulder was a duffel bag; rolling behind his feet was a medium-sized tote. On top of it were two more travel bags. Sticking out of one of them appeared to be a folded map. Stylo blinked with astonished eyes.

            “Uh, ‘scuse me? Sir?”

            The echidna snapped his pocket watch shut. A pretty golden gleam entered both his and the curious hedgehog’s eyes. A particular eagerness had brightened them, now that their eyes were meeting. The echidna held a confused, spooked look—including creased eyebrows and defensive fang.

            “Can I help you…?”

            “Which way is it to the help kiosk?”

            He shot his thumb adjacent from his shoulder. Stylo’s eyes followed the point and perked his ears higher. Smiling grandly, he grabbed the stranger’s hand and shook it, vigorously professional. “Thank you thank you,” the boy spouted before dashing away.

            Moments after watching him scamper off, the red echidna huffed. He tilted his hat more forward, pulled out the map, and began to scan it over.

            The electronic signage within the building displayed the time change: 8:17 AM, in bright orange characters. Shortly after, a weather update as well as a prewritten message regarding that supposed convention and the revamped city-wide security in correlation with it.

            “…I’m lookin’ _dead_ at this map and it ain’t showin’ me a… ‘Parking Lot Café,’ my man.”

            The man from earlier found himself in a bind. At the person on the other end of his cell phone, he gritted his teeth. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed. Something about a mentioning of coffee blends irritated him.

            “Oh my goodness—Dammit, Ced, will you please tell me where you’re at?!”

            “Yeesh…! Chill yer britches, ‘Senio…Lord. Lemme try that again….”

            A more faraway voice mumbled something, but it was unintelligible to both speakers. “Huh? What did he say?”

            “Nah, it was nothin’, my man. Vesper’s just sleeptalkin’ again…Something about a ‘Polyglot Café’ or…?”

            The echidna—with a cool best-friend shortening of “Arsenio”—gave a funny look to his map. Then, to his phone. Then, back to his map with narrower eyes. “The hell?—you mean the one you’re at, _right now?_ ”

            Now plus Visa, Stylo found himself entering into a wrong part of the male echidna’s conversation. Somehow the man was yelling into his mobile device, with the white hedgehog flinching at every emphasis. Out came a teetering, “Umm…?”

            “—but how the hell did you confuse ‘Polyglot’ with ‘Parking Lot,’ though?!”

            Every spine on the young man’s head stiffened. Bubbling at the corners of his eyes were sensitive tears. A trace of fear stitched into his heart; the harshness reminded him of Father Pieria’s outbursts. Yet, despite the heat they carried, the burly albatross was always reminded that “Temperance is a virtue.”

            So, for a few moments more, Stylo observed the other man. He could easily see that the echidna was annoyed, fuming, and ready to snap again. It was rousing silent attention from the station guards, so Stylo made a bold move.

            At his cell phone’s disconnecting click, the male echidna made a “click!” with his tongue. Shoving it into his pocket, he did a double-take at Stylo’s gawking eyes. Another confused look pronounced his features. _“The hell, man? What does this kid want?”_ He flashed a threatening fang at him.

            “I’m sorry to bother you again, but the guards are watching you….”

            The hedgehog’s whisper sensitized him. After a couple blinks—looking towards the gate—and another couple at one walking by. In exchange for Stylo’s teasing smirk, he gave a strangely blank yet cross look. “There ain’t anything to see here. I ain’t no terrorist.”

            Stylo was startled by the subjective observation. Flushing madly, he cheeped, “I didn’t think you were! I’m so sorry!” He slapped a pair of hands over his mouth.

            Both brows lifted. Following came a bewildered look. The boy was fretting inside, he could tell. He took a peek at a radiating semblance to the Celtic cross he possessed. Feverishly uttering under his breath, the boy’s chain of prayer was broken.

            “Hey, kid? Do you know where…?” He sighed. “‘Polyglot Café’ is?”

            “I’m sorry?”

            Golden-yellow finches had bucked wide. The white hedgehog had frozen. Like a night-roaming deer caught in a semi’s headlights. No fault or harm was about to come his way—the echidna was sure, in the strangest of ways. He was only asking if he knew where that café was. Sure, the boy was a tad weird, somewhat nosy, and annoying, but it wasn’t something to beat him down over. In fact, a kidlike charm radiated from the white hedgehog: His garbs looked more pristine against his silvery dove-gray coat. Segmented forehead-quills appeared to be brushed upward. His messenger bag looked out of place, though; the young man’s head tilted at the stranger’s intrigue. Thankfully, the echidna’s temper had simmered down.

            “Oh, I see. You’re new around here, aren’tcha?” A sly smirk. “Well, no worries, kid. Let’s be lost together, why don’t we? Feh-heh!”

            Stylo blinked rapidly.

            “I’m sure we can learn our way around together.”

            Then, he blushed.

            “I’ll find where I’ve gotta be, sooner or later, and you’ll find where you’ve gotta be…wherever that is.”

            Stylo watched the echidna hike up his belongings, listening in on more exposition. Compared to his sling-tote, the luggage seemed full-blown. He’d introduced himself as Arsenio Gutierrez. On auto-pilot, he multitasked flawlessly. As if a disruption had never been made, he presented his ID and Visa to the security guard. Stylo wasn’t sure if he should’ve followed, but the echidna had darted a “He’s with me,” back at the guard. The boy was astonished, struggling to keep up in conversation. He found himself flittering about in attempts to follow his new acquaintance; Arsenio only chuckled, in return.

 

 **Spagonia** , within an indistinct leisure district – **Mid-morning** …

 

Clearance was complete. Now, Arsenio and Stylo could begin on a joint episode of wanderlust. From the midst of his explanations, Stylo learned that Arsenio was a freelance treasure hunter; an explorer of sorts with the intention of keeping his finds. But with enough luck and good looking-out from a renowned friend, he might consider working for a museum or an archaeology firm. Stylo’s eyes sparkled, proud of him for his achievements.

            Even if it settled a bit oddly with Arsenio, himself. He chuckled again. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?” A cool wink.

            Stylo could’ve sworn each hair on him stood up a bit. He sucked in part of his lower lip, hiding an awkward smile. “What about you? What do you do?” His quills frazzled at the sudden redirect. “Uh-I, ahh…I’m an apprentice at the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I’ve worked under Father Nestor ever since I was little. But I’m on break today. Lots of work and no play makes for a very unhappy Stylo.” A bashful laugh lilted.

            More antiquated edifices lined the streets. Spagonian natives looked so regal and holy in their garbs. Arsenio was putting two and two together as he quietly analyzed his younger companion. Stylo looked like a teenager, but he admitted—again, bashfully—that he was twenty years old. He “aged gracefully,” according to him. He wasn’t attending Spagonia University. So Arsenio figured the hedgehog was using his apprenticeship as a more intensive route. Perhaps for a career focus? Maybe it was geared more towards religion? Was he training to become a priest, he wondered. By the looks of him, he still had a long ways to go.

            “Well, whatever is it you’re aiming for, you’re closer to it than I am— _that’s_ for sure.”

            A curious blink. “Hmm? Why do you say that?”

            But Arsenio just shook his head. “I shouldn’t say. Could be bad judgment on my end. Ya know?” He gave Stylo a semi-comforting grin.

* * *

“Criminy, here it is!”

 

 **Polyglot Café** – **Mid- to Late Morning** …

 

            “Finally! ‘Bout time I found this damn place…! Grah, my bad. I kinda just dragged you along….”

            “Oh! No, that’s okay! But, uhh…if you don’t mind, I think I’m gonna head out, now. Maybe we can sit down for coffee next time?”

            “I ain’t got a problem with that. In fact, I’ll treat ya.” His wink looked so cool. “You know, for helping me keep my head, and keeping me company. It’s nice to travel with others sometimes. Anyway, I guess I’ll be seein’ ya.”

            Up a tall staircase and through a rustic door, Arsenio was greeted by a tinkling bell. He gave Stylo one last wave before disappearing.

            Stylo did the same before heading off his own way. All while hiding the butterflies flittering in his stomach.

            Further up the street, there were stands. Showcases of handmade sweet nothings, including cards, fruit baskets, and other decorative trinkets. Somewhat homey, nestled inside a small plaza, Stylo couldn’t smell the sweets without them making his mouth water. With the little money he had Stylo tried a gelatin sample before buying a cup for himself. It was green, but tasted more like strawberry than kiwi. A jewelry stand caught his eye: _“Maybe these gold bands will accent my new outfit!”_ The young man was bubbling with excitement.

            Even further along, Stylo found a shopping mall. Although, it wasn’t anywhere near as big as he thought it would be. If anything, it looked like an indoor Chinatown. It appeared to be receiving quite a bit of patronage, however. Even Stylo’s: Sparkling canaries ogled a young men’s boutique, under the name “Adonic Egotist.” Not too cued in to the name, Stylo went in and checked everything out. Vests, sweater vests, tailored vests, even lumberjack vests; dress wear, sportswear, casual wear, and “hard-wear” were divided into four tiny sections in the shop. Going by style, he could only imagine himself in dress wear, since his Lumen Sage fledgling robes were considered formal. But, too eager to be conservative, Stylo wanted to buy the first outfit he put together.

            Or, at least, tried to want to.

            His poor wallet was starving. A crooked smile twitched his lips. _“There’s no way I can cover this…Oh no!”_ came his mind’s frightened peeps. Tears drooled in comical squiggles.

            But he still wanted to try on the ensemble. He’d picked out a lovely graphic tee-cardigan combo and cool denim skinnies. Trendsetting boots and sunglasses tied the look together; his gold bands made it look richer—literally. Curious, he examined the engravings in the bands. They were in an unreadable script, and Stylo gave up without thinking too deeply into it.

            Suddenly, a sharp pause. And a half-anxious, half-sneaky smirk. _“Hmm…? What was that move again?”_

            Half a moment later, Stylo pulled the curtains back and forth. A courteous move, even though he was sure nobody noticed. Apprehension made his heart pound, but he strolled back towards the boutique door. After removing all the price and security tags, Stylo chanced a non-problematic exit. In fact, an opposing incident came: A sales associate had noticed no one—meaning Stylo—had come out of the changing room in a long time. Stylo took a moment to watch the once-concerned clerk fly into confusion after noticing the tags, throwing his eyes everywhere, and calling the manager. _“He_ should _be calling the police…!”_ A naughty snicker. How uncharacteristic of him, the white hedgehog thought right after.

 

Far enough away now, Stylo revealed himself just before blending into a crowd. Almost like they were awaiting a parade, Spagonian citizens lined the main street. A little girl waved a cross in the air at someone. Her cross looked an awful lot like his own.

            _“Huh?”_ Stylo pulled out his necklace. Gold, radiating sun rays, it resembled his treasure gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday. It was uncanny.

            The person she waved at was approaching. Suddenly, a gravity unlike any the hedgehog had ever felt fell on him. Canaries quivered at the distant magnificence.

            A tall Human, hoary with age yet somehow retaining a minute youthfulness, glided along. Gold-tipped boots clacked against cobblestone. Shoulders draped by a whole peacock, as well as a golden cloak, the man looked divine. Ahead of him was Spagonia University, the city’s centerpiece. At his heels was a shorter man, who resembled a hedgehog—like Stylo—in profile. Veiled from head to toe, the hedgehog’s willowy masculine frame was the only thing Stylo could identify. He seemed to be carrying the golden robe’s hems, like a maid would for a bride’s veil. An anonymous entourage surrounded both men.

            Utterly stunning, thought the twenty-year-old. Stylo’s eyes shimmered at the Human man’s response to that little girl’s call, “I love you, Mr. Balder!”—which was a good-natured smile, coupled with a gentlemanly half-bow. An almost magical movement: It was enough to simulate him ducking from a whirlwind. It snatched up one of Balder’s peacock feathers. In perfect time, the wind lightened, and the little girl giggled uncontrollably after catching it. Her mother praised her, and the little girl waved again, “Thank you!”

            A childlike fascination had settled in Stylo, too. He made himself smile big. “Wow! Father Balder—as in, _the_ Father Balder! I never thought in a million years that I’d see him! Especially so up-close and personal, sort of…Heh?”

            Somehow, an eeriness meandered through that moment. As brief as it came, it left. A piercing gleam, and it startled Stylo to notice it coming from the Human’s half-mask. Richly gold, a cobalt lens was encrusted into its sun-like design. The upper-left third of the man’s face was armored by it. And it screamed “Foreboding!” at Stylo.

 

 

In the Presence of the Father, Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jun Yabriel (from FF.Net): I have returned, and with the third installment to my "Main-Men Hedgies" collection, to boot! Silver, renamed "Stylo" for the sake of the storyline, is the final main protagonist. Contrary to what I had originally planned, his story takes place in the distant past-to-present timeline (compared to Shadow's present-to-future and Sonic's present-to-alternate universe present-to-multiple futures). Also, I know Silver never appears in Sonic Unleashed, but I'm using Unleashed settings instead of Bayonetta settings - because why not? I guess as a compromise, I will be inserting Bayonetta characters into the storyline, as well as one or two OCs.
> 
> No Angel-hacking action yet, ladies and gents. That'll come later, I promise. XD


	3. The Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny

  **Verse Two – The Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny**

 

Back at the **Polyglot Café** – **Meanwhile** …

 

Near the Café’s entrance hung a mosaic rose window. Pinks, greens, orange, and gold flecked in variegated tints. An interesting saying was etched into a wall’s scrolling: “Where Relaxation Is Understood Everywhere.”

            “I dunno, my man. This ‘Father Balder’ sounds awful fishy to me.”

            “Yeah, o’ course. Any bigwig CEO is gonna sound suspicious, even with his ‘big plans’ to bring new energy sources into Spagonia. But think about all that loot. If you can get one raid of his safe in— _just one_ …you’d make me a very rich man, _my_ man.” Cedric crossed his arms and nodded in confidence.

            A long-faced, hopeless look pulled down Arsenio’s features. “Uh…I’m not _that_ good yet, Ced. I know I’m a treasure hunter an’ everything, but…?”

            But it was too late. The green crocodile was wringing his hands together, already sinisterly plotting. A Dark Chao bobbed around over Cedric’s head.

            Arsenio gave the croc an even blanker stare. “I ain’t no Lara Croft or nothin’, but whatever.”

            The purple chameleon sitting with them had actually dozed off. Quiet Z’s drifted over his head as it dawdled in his hand’s balance.

            More Spagonian citizens coasted by. Slightly above ground, the ancient architecture caught Arsenio’s eye again. Once-ginger roofs had become antiquated. More technological advances were being made, but there was an emphasis on not harming the city’s original design and layout. It was an enforced promise; Father Balder made sure of it. But something about the CEO’s promises seemed odd: Changes in Spagonia’s infrastructure would need to be made in order to progress. Why bother worrying about the city itself? He proposed it had something to do with the local Historian’s Guild. Perhaps they didn’t want too much change?

            Was it even on Balder’s agenda to transform Spagonia?

           “Speaking of famous video game references, I wonder how the ol’ Doc Eggman’s doin’?”

           The snooze bubble at Vespertine’s “nostril” popped, suddenly.

            “I mean, he’s demoted himself from evil mastermind to evil cohort, if you ask me.” The big croc shrugged. “I’m sure he ain’t lose any of his ungodly smarts, since he’s still got that filthy-rich paying job under Balder. Hey! You guys think he’s got some cockamamie scheme cookin’ up? For Balder’s ‘new energy’ spiel…?”

            A pause filled the space between Cedric’s question and a response. “Whaddaya think, Vesper?” came the random redirect. But the chameleon gave Cedric a blank gaze, then a slow blink. Another pause, slightly more awkward than the first, filled in next. On the other side of it was Vespertine’s sleepy half-nod. Sweat drops fell from Cedric’s temple. His cross remark sounded like, “Guhh…ya sleepyhead.”

            Arsenio kept his eyes on the outside, however. Cedric’s drabbles faded from hearing. Focused on a nonspecific thing, the echidna’s thoughts went back to Stylo, for some reason. He thought back to the comment he’d halfway made to the boy. And from the bottom of his heart he frowned, closing his eyes.

            It was only for a brief second. He swore that girl hadn’t been there prior to it.

* * *

 

Father Balder’s entourage began to ascend the University stairs. A twitch in the air was felt. As the men were wholeheartedly greeted and granted access, Balder turned back. It was a small glance, towards the hedgehog behind him.

            “Such nuisances, those Witches are.”

            The hedgehog lowered his hands. The golden cape’s embroidered sun shimmered as the tall man glided inside. After the faintest glimmer of his faceplate came a command.

            “Eliminate her.”

            He sharply nodded. “Sir!”

            The doors had closed, but the hedgehog still disappeared through them. 

* * *

 

Falling from a rooftop, she seemed to be. Magical elegance wafted over her curves. A nighttime sheen darkened her lilac fur. The cat’s movements were focused and timely. She landed perfectly, like a gymnast. A sharp gleam on her _bindi_ denoted immense yet suppressed power. So did the claws on her hands and feet. Fiery and wrathful in every sense.

            Which was a big turn-on for Arsenio.

            “Sweet mama! Hello~, sexy!” As well as for Cedric, giving her a wolfish whistle.

            Vespertine’s sleep bubble snapped.

            About as soon as the mysterious girl had appeared, a body-crushing boom thundered behind her. She gave it a nonchalant glance. Even though whatever caused it had flattened a store front across the street from the Café.

            Jumping out of his seat, Arsenio cried out, “What the hell?!”

            Cool as a cucumber, the cat-girl readied her weapons. She was ready to pounce. “Come and get me…you goody-two-shoes lummox.”

            The crude taunt made the Café shake. Shop staff evacuated patrons, leading them through an emergency exit, with Cedric and Vespertine chasing along after them. But the croc noticed they were one man short. He and his chameleon partner skidded to a stop, out of the stampede’s way.

            “Hey! ‘Senio? Where are ya, my man?!”

            But the building’s façade came crashing in; an invisible entity destroyed it. Fearing the worst, Cedric cried out Arsenio’s name once more. Also fearing the worst, Vespertine took the somber approach and pulled Cedric into following him.

            Strangely, whatever had roared earlier didn’t sound like an angry tiger or a vengeful man, but a distressed choir.

            Landing high above, the cat-girl watched the angel like a hawk. Besides its cherubic face, this angel looked nothing like what angelology studies and theocrats described. It looked brutish, warlike, and ready for battle. Emerald armor was donned, and it was armed with a massive golden axe. Its ring sported metal lapels that resembled sunrays. Regrouping itself, the angelic ironside grunted as it pushed itself out of Polyglot Café’s edifice. It bared its golden axe, once more.

            Another heavenly roar sounded. From it came an ivory ghostlike tome:

 

 **Beloved** 

_Second Sphere Powers_

 

            The cat-girl grimaced.

 

 **Elsewhere** , in a Spagonian plaza – **Moments before** …

 

Stylo relaxed on the upper patio of yet another café. It was a bit smaller than Polyglot, but it had a rich native atmosphere. Halving as a bakery, a couple of store clerks doubled as waitresses. Apparently, the sisters had taken a load off their elderly grandparents. Stylo managed to chat with them. They giggled and blushed, compliments were exchanged, and Stylo even scored a high “Cute Guy” quotient with both girls.

           Despite being college student-age all around, Stylo felt out-of-place when they talked about “semester exams” and the like. He had to admit he was embarrassed about not having a clue of what they were talking about. Even with his confession, all the girls did was coo at him and giggle in sympathy. A tad biting in a way, but he was sure they hadn’t meant it to be. The twenty-year-old simply waved it off with a giggle of his own.

           That was when a sudden rumbling shook the area. The waitresses yelped at the earth quaking, cups slipping off tables, and chairs and parasols shifting about. It was brief, but it was felt in neighboring buildings. A middle-aged man poked his head out a window and checked for damage. Turning to the girls, “Hey! You girls alright?”

           The sisters were holding each other when one of them replied, “We are, Mr. Josef! Was that an earthquake?—there’s no way it could’ve been, right?”

           Stylo steadied himself after losing his hot cocoa. He was shaking slightly, as he grabbed hold of the banister. Below, people were panicking. No one was running quite yet, but frightened Spagonians discussed their suspicions.

           “Maybe it was an earthquake!”

           “That’s geographically impossible! We’re nowhere near a fault line!”

           “Or somehow a meteor crashed nearby?”

           “Where did it land?”

           Stylo watched a bespectacled man and a butcher argue for a bit before an adolescent mentioned a possible meteor crash. _“This is getting out of hand,_ fast. _Sooner or later, the police will be here, right?”_ Reluctant to leave the scene, Stylo made the quick decision to bail.

           “Hey! Where are you going?” the other sister called after him. “We should wait till the police arrive—Oh my gosh, are you crazy?!”

           He hadn’t meant to ignore her, but Stylo couldn’t risk anyone seeing his disappearing act. He vaulted over the patio railing, falling diagonally into the alley in-between. Only to disappear before hitting the ground. After Stylo tumbled safely, he stopped himself. _“Something’s not right!”_ He ran further through the alley.

           A couple lefts later, he found himself in the street. He took a moment to note the townspeople, the arriving police, and the buildings’ condition. Things not mounted to the pavement were jolted, but the buildings looked intact. Stylo was highly certain that rumble hadn’t been an earthquake. So, he made a brave dash across the courtyard to investigate, and possibly help anyone who needed it.

* * *

 

Sometime into his investigation, Stylo heard evacuation protocols being issued for that section of the city. _“What’s going on? That tremor put everyone on high alert. Where did it come from, anyway?”_ the young man’s brain tried to process. No one could tell him to stop and turn back, now. Vaulting into Purgatorio made his armbands glow; he hadn’t noticed until his new clothes were gone. In their place again were his Lumen fledgling robes. Confused, Stylo examined himself. “How did my…?” Then left it at that.

            His ears perked to the sound of loud thuds, glass breaking, and a distinct voice shrieking. Suddenly, an explosion of debris came into view. And, at the forefront, translucent silhouettes shaped like Cedric and Vespertine came running.

            “Holy shit, gangway!” the croc appeared to have cried, snot and tears flying off his face.

            Stylo peered closer at them. Then, at their dust trail. Then, back again. He gasped, eyes gaping in shock. “Hold on! What are _angels_ doing here?!”

            Soaring after the two reptiles was a squadron of them. Resembling birds in the vaguest sense, the flock seemed to be following a superior-like leader. Not that much different from the rest, the brother angels wielded oddly shaped weapons but donned rich cobalt-blue and blood-red robes with identical facemasks. Their wings’ elbows were gilded, glorious feathers beaming in the pre-noon light. One of the leaders led its co-commander and their platoon into a beautiful battle cry. A ghostlike tome appeared from their chorus:

 

 **Affinity** 

_First Sphere Angels_

 

            In midflight, the angels caught sight of Stylo. The hedgehog and ethereal creatures locked glances. Half went ahead, while the blue co-commander brought down their half of the platoon. Their gentle landing awakened the plant life in the direct vicinity. Flowerpots burst with color, ferns unfurled and curled fancily, even potted trees aspired to reach for the sky. Birds twittered happily. Stylo looked around the plaza in astonishment.

            A whimsical arpeggio brought his eyes back to the angelic team. Standing tall and grand before him, the blue-robed angel seemed to be examining him. Birdlike hums trilled from it. Its claws looked dangerous beyond a doubt’s shadow. But, to Stylo, it sounded fascinated.

            _“It almost seems happy to see me…?”_ the Lumen fledgling thought. A natural nervousness came over Stylo, as a claw slowly craned towards his head. “Umm…Have I done something that’s, uh…made you happy?”

            The white hedgehog was expecting a jab to the skull that would result in instant death. But it came as a gentle poke. It made him feel warm and safe all over. Angelic security came in the form of a fluid laud.

            “ECRIMI IADPIL—LIBA,” sang the blue-clad commander.

Its underlings followed, climbing up and down the musical scale in notes Stylo had never thought he’d hear. Another eggshell tome floated over his head:

 

 **Applaud** 

_First Sphere Archangels_

 

* * *

_Stylo felt a wave of humility washing over him. Enlightenment brimmed every crevice of his brain and came close to burst at the seams. In it, Stylo found himself gliding over a pond. The cleanest water the fledgling had ever seen, as well as in the most beautiful location. Isles of green meadows spotted the pond, which seemed to stretch into forever. The very tip of his toe skimmed the water. The absence of gravity but presence of control was exhilarating. Stylo giggled playfully, going back to his childhood days of ice-skating when the lake outside Lucia Mission froze over. He never expected himself to be so good at it, much less needing it later in life. But there was still a vast difference between skating on ice and skimming on water. Elation pulled both corners of the white hedgehog’s mouth; Stylo couldn’t help feeling happy._

_It felt like his first twenty years of life melted away, became irrelevant. But, in the fledgling’s elation, a child’s reflection was skating under him, with him._  

* * *

 

However, the cat-girl came scurrying out with the hulking Beloved in tow. Near-reckless axe swings missed their target. The girl was too quick for it. Ready to go back on the offensive, there came a glint from her dark-lilac bodysuit. Silvery braids mingled with the stitches. Her ruby _bindi_ blazed.

            “That’s it, I’ve had enough!” Her curved cleavers blazed, as well. “I’m ending this, now!” All four weapons glowed with literal flames. As she chanted, an evil-looking tome floated from the magical depths. Along her curves, amplified by that dark portal, her fur and hair swiveled around. A strong modesty veiled her unmentionables with a dark-lilac helix. Her swords dance channeled more magical power into her spell:

**“IZAZAZ PIADAPH”**

           From the evil tome appeared a name:

 

 **Phantasmaraneae** 

_Infernal Demon Spider_

 

            Stylo found himself in the arms of the Applaud, it and its platoon soaring high over Spagonia’s leisure district. In spite of his astonishment, Stylo felt like he’d been hit by either that Beloved or a semi. His body felt like lead. Awakening from a particularly nice dream, he looked around in a daze. He didn’t quite catch on to his mysterious flight, but before he could he found himself being lowered to the ground. Very confused, Stylo found out the ground to an angel was the top of a building.

            “Uh-…ah? Hey, wait! Please, don’t leave me up here!” The fledgling struggled to reach out, seeing them take off. Back in the sky, the platoons attempted to regroup. But literal spitfire torched them. They screamed as they plunged into the fiery rivers below. The sidewalks were bathed in lava, somehow. In between his meeting the angels and waking atop the building, a giant fire-spider had appeared and was devouring the Beloved. The Lumen novice witnessed the animosity, his heart dropping and blood draining from his face. Arachnid fangs gnawed the angel over and over. Stylo couldn’t believe his eyes. Everything around him had become chaotic all of a sudden.

            “What…What in the world…is…?!”

            “Here comes the Cavalry, so watch out, Jyeshtha.”

            Suddenly, Stylo found himself ducking for cover. From out of nowhere came a loud grinding sound. Almost like metal on stone, it careened over him. It came in the form of a metal hull. Not too huge or imposing, it looked too big for the three people in it. The airborne boat was complete with masts, sails, a steering helm, and battened-down hatches.

            The girl who’d spoken sounded very young. It wasn’t official until Stylo caught sight of three of them. Young girls, dressed up in pastel pirate ensembles, sailed right over the white hedgehog’s head. One looked back and waved a hanky at him. “Bye, Cutie-Sage!”

            Stylo made a face. “ _Cutie_ -Sage? What the—?”

            Before he took another step, a gold glint flashed into his eye’s corner. And gasped. “No way!” Stylo had run over to retrieve its source. Examining it carefully, Stylo sighed, “Oh no…” remembering it belongs to the co-commanding Applaud. The blue- and red-robed “brothers” had succumbed to the demon spider’s spit, together. A silent prayer went into a peaceful passing.

           Snapping his eyes open, the novice took up the weapon and gave a serious glower. “That spider’s destroyed part of this city. And it looks like…” Eagle-eyed, he caught sight of the cat-girl declining a ride from her contemporaries, it appeared. He narrowed his eyes at her. “She’s the cause of it. I have to stop her!”

           Just as he was making his way towards her, she saw him skipping over buildings at a high speed. Her ears swiveled towards his footfalls. Then, a sour grimace curled her lips. “Tch! You can’t catch me, fool. Good luck trying, though.”

           Parts of Spagonia had begun to burn. And that was when the chase began.

 

 

In the Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny, Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jun Yabriel (from FF.Net): I hand a lot of credit to the Bayonetta Wiki for this chpt, and probably all the rest that'll follow. I had forgotten a lot of the underlying details in the original game, so I decided to incorporate some of them. I hope you like them. If you haven't played Bayo, you need to. It's really fun; it may leave a few players miffed (what with blood and gore and angel-hacking), but if you like hack-'n'-slash games, here's one to pick up.
> 
> Anyway, Stylo's met a Witch - does that answer his question, though? He's also met a few angels, as well. "Boy, what a day!" Another chpt should be coming up. I hope you enjoyed this one!


	4. The Sentinel's Test A

**Verse Three – The Sentinel’s Test A**

 

**Spagonia University** – **After hearing of the commotion** …

 

“Good Lord…! _Was_ that an earthquake? Shouldn’t we evacuate?”

            “Be not alarmed, Professor Ulrich.” Father Balder waved the fellow man down. “A sentinel of mine is seeing to it.”

            The elderly scholar seemed fairly apprehensive about the earth rumble. It felt too close to home to merely ignore. Heightened security surveyed the area. An origination was confirmed to be somewhere in the leisure district. “Between Wards 16 and 17, approximately, sir,” a scout had notified a higher-up.

            Deep within the university’s subterranean cloisters, a council of white-garbed men sat around a rich mahogany table. A meeting of sorts was suggested by the Ithavoll CEO, himself. More than willing to accommodate, Professor Richard Mandrake welcomed the closely knit group. Unable to direct them any further than the Main Building’s elevator, the CEO thanked Prof. Mandrake for his hospitality, nonetheless.

            The conference had commenced, and less than ten minutes into it, the rumble came and went. But it was almost as if Balder wasn’t surprised. He did steal a glance at the older gentleman, however. His glasses shook as he adjusted them. With a reassuring wave, Balder was able to quell it.

            “It isn’t what you think it is, my good sir.” Father Balder continued.

            “Are you sure? Perhaps, it was an explosion…?”

            “Please, don’t worry yourself. Your seniority will prove to be more of a hindrance in your progress than an asset, if you do. My sentinel is handling it, Prof. Ulrich….”

 

**Spagonia’s Ward 24** , near the rocky strand – **More into the afternoon** …

 

_“…I can assure you.”_

            Ocean breezes whipped up the veiled hedgehog’s half-robe and tabard. Seabirds flashed by his line of vision, but he disregarded them. They flew further out, banking towards the coastline again. Alongside the same line but further away, despite his veils, he seemed to be peering in the newcomers’ directions.

            Stylo was nipping at the cat-girl’s heels. And from what could be gathered, she looked very annoyed. The stillness he’d carried shifted slightly; he made a wordless double-take at Stylo. His masked gaze intensified; though he remained silent, fell through another portal, and disappeared again, without a word.

            “Hey! Stop right there, you!” the Lumen fledgling cried.

            But her remark was rude and snippy. “Kiss my catty ass, loser!”

            A furious blush overtook Stylo’s face. “H-Hey! Watch your mouth now, lady! And stop, while you’re at it—?!”

            Suddenly, a feminine choir sang out from below. As soon as Stylo noticed he’d run out of buildings to hop over, he skidded to a stop. The white tome appeared before him:

 

 **Enchant** 

_Third Sphere Angels_

 

            “Huh? Enchant…? Where—!”

            Shooting up from below came an entourage of golden wheels. Apparently, they’d been coasting along the walls beside him. Six maiden wheels continued the chase in his stead. The wheels bounced and grinded, their ladylike faces belting out another staggered chord.

            “Whoa, they’re so fast…!” Stylo watched in awe as they caught up to the cat-girl in no time.

            But Jyeshtha wasn’t amused by the trade-off. She snarled under her breath. Her clawed foot attachments scraped the stonework. “I don’t have time to deal with you! Get away from me!” Anger swelled into her power. It blazed, manifesting as a more orange fire, in her hands and feet once more.

            “Crisis Slash!”

            One of the Enchant sisters fell victim to the Witch’s combination attacks. The fighters on both sides were relentless. Precise claws marks made the angel-wheels shriek before exploding into gory, metallic shards. Damages they made infuriated the cat-girl even more, and as a result she seemed to be fighting with even more ferocity. She even took up one wheel and slung it, sending it into tables and chairs, pavement, windows, a fire hydrant, all before crashing into its sisters. She managed to score a three-for-one shot, too.

            “Oh no! They’re losing! They need help!” Stylo cried. He stiffened a grip on his new weapon, set his aim on the magic user’s back, and kept close with her movements. “Don’t worry! My heart is pure and righteous!” Stylo kept his grip taut, his aim tightening. A peek of tongue brought out more concentration. So did a small hum. That’s when a tiny glint of light flashed between Stylo’s fingertips and pull-back. A thin shaft of light was formed, much to Stylo’s amazement. He’d been wondering how the Applauds shot arrows without seeing a quiver. _“Faith, it has to be! So, with that…!”_ The Lumen fledgling’s arrow brightened further and further until he could hold it anymore. “Let my arrow fly!”

            A blinding arrow shot by Jyeshtha. “Well—!” It managed to snatch off a piece of her suit, making a small gash just above her tail’s base. “Pervert…! Here, catch!”

            “What—I am _not_ a pervert!” He wasn’t prepared to catch the wounded Enchant, however: It was soaring right at his face. His gasp escaped, and he threw a hand up to catch it on reflex.

            But the Enchant was deflected, somehow. It’d bounced off an invisible object and flew away, falling elsewhere. A dumbfounded look came over Stylo’s face. His eyes widened at the Enchant’s subsequent destruction. _“Oh no…not again. I couldn’t help it!”_ Regretful tears dotted the corners of Stylo’s eyes; it was disheartening to hear its shriek.

            However, it had been cast into a lava flow. And that same lava was threatening to swallow Jyeshtha, too. She clicked her tongue before springing out of the lava’s path. Upon roosting atop an establishment’s edge, the cat-girl cartwheeled, flipped, and tapped to a safe halt. Gymnastic in all her movements, Jyeshtha had no problems scaling walls, narrowly dodging Stylo’s arrow, or evading the Beloved’s onslaught. Who was this girl, and was she a Witch—just like the ones Stylo had been so curious about during childhood? He knew he couldn’t ask her outright. That would be a costly, exhausting, and possibly lethal mistake. She had quite a plethora of skills, movements, and tactics. She was by no means to be underestimated.

            Flexing her over-sharpened fingers, she shot a glare across the lava canal. It burrowed into Stylo’s psyche; there’s no joking around with this girl, Stylo forewarned. Although, something about her intrigued him.

            He watched her lower her talons. The flames on them dimmed, but remained fiery. Curling over her body was a cat-suit, for lack of a better word. Evening lavender looked dreary, with silvery braided knots tasseling around and off her body. Almost like belts, they coursed her torso, chest, upper arms and thighs, and along her spine and tail. Ensiform tapers spiked out the front- and backsides of those thighs. They looked ghostlike, freeform as an unsteady wind blew through. Underneath the weapons’ cuffs seemed to be white fur, a lot like her collar. He gawked at the silver disk over her heart. A moon design was engraved into it.

            With a lot of resolve and bravery, Stylo questioned the witch. “Hey! You! What are you after? Spagonia’s been partially destroyed”—He threw an index finger at her.—“and I’m holding _you_ responsible for it!” He dipped his eyebrows at her. “Now, answer me! Who are you, and who do you work for?”

_“Some arrogance for a clueless freak,”_ the dark-lavender cat couldn’t help thinking. She snorted at him. “Why don’t you make like a nun and keep your lips shut?”

            Poor Stylo flushed red like a tomato. “Gah?! W-Well, y-you make like a renegade and get outta town!”

            “Doofus. _I’m_ running this town tonight, and I don’t need some goody-goody priest-in-diapers telling me otherwise.” Her own canaries seemed rabid as they pecked into Stylo’s. “Get back to your church, priest. In case you’re lost, it’s down the street and across that bridge over there,” she directed him with a claw-point and a bold rightward hip swagger. Marching away, she continued, “Now, make like a banana and split…before I split _you_ in two.” She hissed at him, both shoulder patches raising threatening.

            Stylo flinched and tripped over his robe hem. Pointing fearfully at her, he was able to refute her statement. “Hold on, I’m not just ‘some goody-goody priest,’ lady!—and _most_ _certainly_ not one in diapers! You take that back right now!” An immature fury blazed in Stylo’s eyes and in his roar.

            “Tch! Whatever. Kiss it.” She resumed her swagger. She also gave him the bird and didn’t look back.

            “Grah, get back here—you’re still in trouble, y’know!”

            The witch’s footfalls stopped tersely. Another growl under her breath denoted her annoyance. “Oh yeah? With who, you? Yeah, whatever.” But something clicked just as she turned around. Turning slowly back, she snipped, “…Or maybe it’s your _friend_ over there?”

            Stylo had just landed from his vault over the lava canal. He recovered from his roll and was about to snatch up the feline’s hand. Though, he not only remembered her claw, but became confused by the term she used. He blinked. “Friend? What friend?”

            Jyeshtha clicked her tongue again. “No friends, huh? How sad is that?” She shrugged carelessly.

            “Hey! Hold on—seriously, now!” Stylo snatched up the girl’s wrist. Her furious glare would’ve stabbed him right between the eyes if it could summon daggers. Thank goodness he was able to deflect it. Oddly, a lot like that Enchant. “I don’t know what kind of ‘friend’ you mean, but you’ve got some explaining to do, young lady!”

            “Who’re you, my mother? Paws off, priest!” came the snarl, wrist snatch, and bared fangs and claws. In fact, one came soaring towards his face.

            And, by a miraculous reflex, Stylo dodged it. He spun in a backward jump, caught his balance again, and huffed. “I told you, I’m not a priest! I’m a Lumen Sage, thank you very much!”

            Suddenly, a pause floated between them. A Lumen Sage, he said. What with the speed he used to leap from rooftop to rooftop, wielding an angel’s weapon without much effort, or even knowing how to use it, Jyeshtha didn’t doubt it. As a matter of fact, it put things into perspective for her.

            A sneaky grin. “Oh? Is that so? I see—you’re in cahoots with that Sentinel guy over there, huh?”

_“Sentinel guy?”_ the referral scuttled through Stylo’s memory banks. As he found himself unable to recall such a figure, he followed her thumb and saw what she had pointed at. But that was when his heart dropped and face paled.

            Another, more confident, smirk: Just in the nick of time, Jyeshtha fluidly avoided the meteor flying towards them. In those few strides, the feline witch slowed down time, somersaulted from the molten ball, snatched up Stylo, and made a run for it. Time returned to its normal speed. The first thing the meteor struck was the very spot Stylo had been standing in mere second-fractions before. Face still pale, he gulped. _“Was that the Sentinel guy’s attack?!”_

            Now further away, the Sage fledgling recuperated on a different rooftop. But the witch never paused. Before Stylo could stop her, she was off again. But sorely at a disadvantage. “No! Don’t go! You can’t face that—whatever it is!”

            “Shut it, Sage!” Jyeshtha was only distracted for half a second when she was shot down by a light beam. It seared into her ribcage, spun her away, and sent her into the building Stylo stood on.

            Its foundation crumbled, wobbled, and so did Stylo’s balance. “Ah, oh no!” Then, he growled in the direction that beam had come. “Quit it! This can be settled _without_ violence!” he barked.

            The cat witch pushed herself out of the rubble, slowly. Grainy dirt and rock sprinkled on her forehead. Her bindi gleamed. “Mrrgh…Damn you, Sage.”

            At the sight of the assailant flying closer, Stylo went on the offensive. He pulled out the angelic longbow and took hasty aim. String drawn and light gathering, he yelled back, “Don’t come any closer! We can do this the easy way or the hard way! If you are what she’s said, then we can work something out, can’t we? I’m a Sage, too, so let’s turn her in together—!”

            The lightest foot tap, then the other Sage vanished. Stylo froze. All the energy in his arrow was lost. _“So fast…!”_

            Right when the thought manifested, so did the assailant once more. A soft touch atop Stylo’s drawing hand came before a nearly musical murmur: “VIRUDEN,” it said. It left as fast as it came, and it made Stylo’s head spin. Double-taking both shoulders, he stuttered. “W-Wait a minute…? What the—?!”

            Refocused, he was able to see the witch’s assailant: The Lumen Sage was heavily veiled. From crown to toe, he wore mostly eggshell and gold. His half-robe looked just like Stylo’s; although, a crimson tabard accentuated the front and a short cape did so for the back. Gilt laurels curled throughout the robe, with some stopping at his elbows—where bulb-shaped sleeves wafted in the wind. The official garbs looked pristine, down to his trousers, fingerless gloves, and even combat boots. An opal jewel seemed to be embedded into the tabard’s upper part. There seemed to be gold armor protecting his waist, particularly over his groin. A gold half-mask veiled the upper part of his face; it was similar to Father Balder’s, except in design. Sunrays radiated from its visor, as did ram horns in authoritative curls. A hood covered most of his head quills, even hiding away a couple beaded strings. It continued over his mouth, along his jawline, and ended as a cowl neck.

            He had no weapons Stylo could speak of. And that worried Jyeshtha. In his air-dash, she’d caught sight of the intruder. She grinded her teeth as she locked eyes with him.

            Even so, Stylo stared at the man who bore no visible features. He felt his aura, became awed by it. And his cryptically immense beauty.

 

 

In the Sentinel’s First Glance, Amen.


	5. The Sentinel's Test B

**Verse Four – The Sentinel’s Test B**

 

Stylo’s spines wouldn’t stop shivering. An uneasiness filled the space between him and the newcomer Sage. A strong hesitation hazed his breathing space, almost suffocating him. It almost reminded him of Father Balder and the “foreboding” glance he gave him. Scared canaries watered.

            _“He’s way stronger than me! I can feel—an unbelievable pressure! Who is this guy? And why does his aura match an angel’s?!”_

            But in spite of Stylo’s critical internal analyses, the other Sage made no advances or signs of attention. He was still as a statue. White hems, on opposing sides, fluttered in a light sea breeze. A tiny gulp slithered down the white hedgehog’s throat.

            _“Who…are you?”_ Nothing else could come out of Stylo’s head.

            There was nothing he could ask that would explain why this newcomer—supposedly an ally—was attacking this Witch. Was she truly such a major threat? Her power was impressive, Stylo admitted, but was he trying to kill her? And if they were under the same allegiance, why would he attack him, too?

            Scared tears scurried down the boy’s cheeks. _“…And why are you attacking_ me _?!”_

            “What’re you doing, you moron?! Get away from him!”

            The wiser Sage’s preparations to attack commenced: A mandala-like halo rose from his feet, encircling him in a fiery ring. “VINU MALPIRGI,” came the soft incantation. As he lifted from the ground, his head-veils became less opaque. Their hems flared like flame-tips. The roseate beads floated about, much like his tabard and half-cape. His gold visor gleamed dangerously. It was revealed that he carried no weapons, but Jyeshtha was sure he possessed very strong Lumen Sage magic. His aura intensified. The mandala had transformed in shape and color. It hung at the Sage’s back, now.

            Jyeshtha bit her lower lip. _“I know that symbol…!”_

            And Stylo was speechless. It was so bright, so fiery, and heavy, Stylo didn’t know what was looking at or if he was looking at anything. Gazing at something like that should’ve burned his eyes out, right? Instead, his body was arrested by awe. But, the fearful kind.

            Fashioned much like the Applaud’s arrows, a light sword suddenly emerged from the wiser Sage’s hand. It blazed.

            “Idiot! Move!”

            The Sage said nothing as he lunged at Stylo. Intensity quantified with each closing step. From sword-point to hilt, the weapons came like an arrow. As did the Sage, himself. Petrified by the aura, his target couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He just gasped, staring into death’s abysmal yet protected eyes.

            _“I’m gonna die,”_ Stylo’s mind screamed. _“He’s going to kill me!”_

            “Whatever! He’s mine, fool!”

            The cat-Witch rescued him? Again? Time slows. Her hellish claws aim for the enemy’s face. Yet they miss by a hair. It’s enough for her to notice, then grapple Stylo and throw him over to a different rooftop. “No—Agh!”

            Sparks flew with every clash between claw and sword. Nonstop clangs vied for a successful strike on both sides. Kicks and slashes were made against the Lumen Sage, but proved himself to be more elusive than powerful. Wasn’t he aiming for her?

            In-between pauses, Jyeshtha interrogated him. “Tell me, Sage. What’re you here for? Is it me—or that moron—you want?”

            Though, nothing was spoken in return. He resumed his assault.

            “Urk! Talk, damn you! It’s not like you and your kind to allow friendly fire. Why such hatred towards that kid?” Another unsuccessful strike brought space between them. “I didn’t think you hated newbies so much…Sentinel.”

            There was a more reflective pause, this time. The Lumen’s veils wisped in the sea breeze. Tidal crashes gave the moment more concentration. He didn’t lower his sword, but his golden gaze.

            “I do not hate that child.”

            For some reason, he dismissed his light sword and stood for a moment. The breeze continued to take his tabard, cape, and veils. The ram horns gilded in the faintest sun slivers. Carmine beads glimmered, as well. That gold visor didn’t move in the slightest. But his head-spines flounced as he shook his head.

            “I cannot hate that child.”

            Jyeshtha growled.

            “Now, be gone, Witch.”

            The cat-girl readied her claws again. “Heh! You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you? Look at you—all up on your high horse about being ‘unable’ to hate that dunce—when you nearly incinerated him with a meteor…! If I hadn’t moved him, _he’d_ be gone, you know.”

            The other Sage didn’t seem fazed by the notion.

            “Ha! And that non-face you’re making proves it! You could care less about that boy…So why don’t we just fight _mano a mano_?” Jyeshtha purred, licking her upper lip.

            Another light flashed within the Sentinel’s grasp.

            “Yeah, what do you say…Sentinel?”

 

* * *

 

_“Why don’t you become fish food for my partner, Iblis?”_

            Unbeknownst to Jyeshtha or the mysterious Sentinel, Stylo had fallen into a courtyard-like area. His young body had crashed through a wooden bench. It wasn’t much to cushion his fall, so only the earth underneath surely ended it. Unfortunately, it was too hard and knocked him out cold.

            Suddenly, from under the trees’ umbrage, came a lone figure. Coughing up a storm, it was familiar as well as very vexed, confused, and somewhat concerned.

            “Dammit, what the hell was all that back there?” Arsenio brushed the leaves sticking to his jacket. “I lost my hat, but…it’s better than losing my life. Could’ve died in _that_ heat…damn.”

            The echidna spied the hedgehog. It was a bit startling, seeing him battered and bruised like that. Especially since he’d only seen him—A-Okay and cheery—that morning. Blood made its way from his head; obviously from the fall. The boy wasn’t moving at all.

            “Stylo!”

            So, Arsenio sprang into action.

            After a little while, Stylo was all patched up: After tearing shreds off both his and his own clothing, Arsenio wrapped them around all the injuries he could. Carefully, he brought Stylo out of the courtyard and into an alleyway’s mouth. Resting next to some abandoned flowerpots and boxes, Arsenio waited for Stylo to wake.

            Something about the distance between them made Arsenio uncomfortable. “I don’t want him freaking out after he wakes up….” So he decided to keep the boy close. Cradling his head and upper body to his chest. The white hedgehog rested there, a bit shorter than Arsenio expected. His body frame was also a bit smaller than he remembered. It was petite for a guy his age. He huddled closer, subconsciously, Arsenio figured. It seemed a slice from his sleeve seemed to be keeping free radicals out just fine. The red spot hadn’t gotten any bigger since covering it.

            But the boy lied in his arms, nonetheless. A concentrating furrow cinched his brows together. It made Arsenio wonder, but hold his tongue.

* * *

 

_Stylo’s fun went into another blissful day. Feeling an absence in time, Stylo must’ve made a hundred flower crowns. Pure happiness shined from the hedgehog’s face. The meadows curved atop hills and around streamlets. Tiny wings flapped around him. Cherubic faces smiled and giggled with him as he tumbled down one hill. Each one had crowns of all kinds. They didn’t seem to mind reveling with him._

_Much taller Affinities and even taller Applauds clapped for him. The floating faces bobbed around Stylo, happy to see him and singing joyfully. The hedgehog kicked around a streamlet’s water, danced in it, and coaxed an Applaud into his play. To that, a couple Affinities followed. It turned into a splash party before Stylo knew it._

_Very befitting to such a tiny, inspirational boy._

 

* * *

 

Arsenio snapped his eyes open to a rumbling sound. “Aw, shit! Not again!” He threw himself to his feet, with Stylo unconscious, and into a sprint. “What the hell is it _this_ time, man?!” He stopped, finding himself boxed in the courtyard. He swapped desperate eyes around in search of an exit. “Dammit, no! C’mon, man!”

            The rumbling was coming closer and closer, but Arsenio couldn’t pinpoint where from. In an odd sense, in spite of his anticipation, it sounded like a motor vehicle.

 

 **Meanwhile** , on rooftops farther away…

 

Jyeshtha’s fight with the Sentinel intensified. Each clash spurned fire; equivalent forces. For some reason, she didn’t back down even though she knew she had a major disadvantage. Her anger had boiled past its usual limit, and her body was beginning to wear down. The Sentinel, however, didn’t make any movements or other indications of fatigue. _“He’s probably just fronting,”_ Jyeshtha thought. She clicked her tongue. _“Tch! Stubborn ram…!”_

            “It seems you’ve distracted me long enough, Witch.”

            Jyeshtha’s pupils slivered. _“He knew that the entire time?!”_

            The Sentinel dismissed his light-sword and stood. “Our battle has caused enough damage. The fledgling has failed my test. I no longer need to persist in my assault. You’re free to go…for now.” He withdrew his power, his magnificent aura, and spun on a ball to leave.

            “Wait a minute, Sage! We’re not done here!” the cat-Witch roared. “You haven’t told me what you wanted from that do-gooder. Is he that unimportant? Then why pursue him at all—Huh?” She pinned a thumb to her chest. “Wasn’t it _me_ you were after?”

            A sideward glance was slighted back at her.

            “Seeing that…you know…it was what your _boss_ wanted?”

            A flaming disk encircled each boot-heel. “His order and my own objective happened to fall under the same prerogative is all that was.” Turning his back, he readied himself to leap. “I bid you adieu. Until we meet again, Witch.”

            Then, the explosive light brought him high into the air. Fire tendrils twirled about his frame and twisted around his somersault. Jyeshtha wanted to shoot him down with a claw-hook, but the fire engulfed him into a reddish-orange cocoon. She snarled to herself, watching as he dispelled the fire like shattering glass.

            Only to see he had gone. Disappeared; only to leave a long, gingery feather behind. 

* * *

 

“Wah! What’re y’all— _crazy?!_ ” Arsenio had leapt out of the way of a huge semi. Its eighteen-wheeled bulk ruined everything in its path—except Arsenio and Stylo, of course. Finishing off what was left of the courtyard’s beauty, it burst into its own inferno. It also looked like it’d gone through a battlefield itself. Scrapes, dents, and holes riddled the trailer in certain places; upon closer inspection, Arsenio saw that it was completely empty. No driver, no passenger, no cargo—anymore. On the side of it was Spagonia’s GUN emblem.

            Arsenio’s heart dropped into his feet. “Holy shit…!”

            Those scrapes looked awfully big. So did those dents and holes.

            “What the hell? What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

            Stylo remained completely unaware in the echidna’s arms. The concentration left his face; replacing it was worry.

 

“This is where my life ends, and my mysterious destiny begins.”

 

 

In the Sentinel’s First Round, Amen.


	6. The Wind Brothers' Entrance

**Verse Five – The Wind Brothers’ Entrance**

 

“This mysterious destiny begins with kidnapping, unlocking secrets, and confusion.…”

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 12** , Aqueduct Street #6 – About **15 minutes later** …

 

Arsenio jogged and jogged until he couldn’t jog anymore. The red echidna praised the heavens for his high endurance. But Stylo’s deceptively lightweight frame was weighing down on his arms, after the mostly uphill trek. Huffing for air, Arsenio made his way over to a cozy niche. That Ward seemed untouched by the violence that rumbled through the city, somehow. An artist’s niche in every way, Arsenio took a couple looks behind both shoulders. Double suns and moons and planets—in a galaxy so far away he didn’t know whether or not to believe it.

            Much farther from the chaos, by goodness’s grace, he allowed the white hedgehog to continue resting. Although, he hadn’t awoken at all during their escape. Spagonia’s 12th Ward was hilly, steeper than its coastal sections. Its canal system ran in a lattice around the upper Wards. From the 7th to the 12th, it ran in concentric rings. Since they didn’t connect, “boat elevators” were installed to help boaters travel easier. Liners, yachts, and barges had to remain out on the coastline, however. Arsenio remembered a time where he’d gone on assignment involving some local liners.

            “Man, those were beautiful pics,” he began to recall, talking to himself—and perhaps alerting Stylo to awaken. “I’ll never forget that sunset picture I took. I can’t now…since my office got raided. Jeez…critics turn into vandals _real_ easy, these days.” He shook his head a bit. “Whatever. I need some water…Kinda wish this kid would wake up already.” Another, more concerned, thought rowed across his mind: _“What happened to him, anyway?”_

            Stylo continued to rest while Arsenio went off to find a refreshments stand. Up the canal-street, a stout man had a canopied stand selling a number of different drinks. Soda, juices, smoothies, even milkshakes and slushies. Water was a staple, according to the salesman. So, waving off his money, he insisted. “No no— _that_ drink’s on me! No need to worry!” Arsenio took the bottles and went back the way he came. “Have a nice one! Be careful, now!”

            There it was: So the commotion had already made its way up there? Arsenio hastened his pace a bit.

            Back at Stylo’s side, Arsenio took careful sips from one of the water bottles. The boy’s head was supported by the echidna’s thigh. Lying in-between them was his satchel. It was the only travel article not lost during his hectic escape. Exhaustion marked the echidna’s features as he fanned his chest with his shirt. A few buttons had ripped off, making the top more open than he liked. All that running, and ducking and dodging, and climbing took their toll.

            After more time had passed, the treasure hunter recovered and began to make his departure. Heaving the still-unconscious Stylo into a piggyback, he sighed a little hopelessly. “Man, kid. Wake up already. Hm…Maybe I should take him to the hospital…? It’s so far, though. Ugh…I gotta find the other guys; Vesper’s good with medicine and health matters. Looks like I’m toting you a little bit longer.”

            There was a loud grinding sound coming from behind Arsenio again. “What the hell— _not again?!_ ”

            _“Ahoy!”_

            Of all the weirdest of weird instances Arsenio had to deal with, this one took the cake: Something—huge—was definitely coming through the canal, even squeezing through its narrow frame and destroying complete sidewalks. Whatever was plowing through gave Arsenio the red light to head for the hills.

            So he did. He shrieked, almost bloody murder, when the invisible vessel crashed through the bridge he’d just vaulted from.

            _“Shoot! Yer done missed ‘im, dummy!”_

            Arsenio recovered swiftly enough to continue running away. The invisible vessel was already curving around the bend when he lost sight of it, and the refreshments stand. Its owner had ducked into his house, survived to survey the damage, and berated the invisible vandals in utter disbelief.

            “What the hell’s wrong with this town?” Arsenio spat out as he clopped away to hide. “What the hell’s wrong…with everyone?!” His feet carried them into the fleeing crowds in attempts to lose their pursuers. The poor hedgehog was still unresponsive, in spite of the chaos beginning to mire around him. Arsenio tried his best to retain some composure; the unconscious passenger’s safety was another priority of his, after all.

            Screaming hillside residents raced alongside an upward spiral. Arsenio managed to duck into another niche, lay Stylo down, and try to awaken him. “C’mon, kiddo! You’ve had enough time to sleep, now it’s time to haul it! C’mon, snap out of it! Wake up!”

            Large crumbles dismounted from a building’s side. A screeching grind had knocked them out of place. That haunting grind made roof corners suddenly turn homicidal. Shocked and dismayed, Arsenio cursed under his breath while throwing himself over Stylo.

            But, somehow, they were deflected.

            Arsenio expecting bone-crushing pain, but when he only felt a few stones come down on his back, he blinked wildly.

_“They’re here, too, eh?”_

_“I can’t believe he sent_ us _out for this.”_

_“…Well, you heard the man: Let’s wrap this up!”_

            The voices ghosted in and out of Arsenio’s ears. Confusion twisted his mouth, so no questions could leak out. Just like that, the voices disappeared. As well as somewhat protective presences.

            Snapping out of it, Arsenio shook his head and refocused on Stylo. His face must’ve relaxed at some point, his worrisome glower gone away. Arsenio made a different face at him, this time: One of problematic intrigue. Though, soon after, a new resolve entered his eyes as he gently lifted the hedgehog back into his arms. “Let’s get you outta here,” the echidna huffed. His legs took off, dodging fallen trash cans.

* * *

 

Another ornate church—much akin to the shore side one—had become yet another trumping ground for whatever was attacking the city. This one had been destroyed, as if something massive had sat on it. The treasure hunter was expecting it to be safe, not squashed. Cursing again, he witnessed more destruction—but in progress.

            “What the—?!”

            An unseen blast threw Stylo out of Arsenio’s arms. The echidna flew backwards, hitting a tree, and laid there. The hedgehog, on the other hand, rolled across the courtyard, stopping before he could hit the church’s mostly removed cornerstone.

_“This game ends right now, Lolita Sisters!”_

_“Ha! Make us stop playing—we dare ya!”_

            Chaos reigned. No one else was around to witness the collapsing residences and shattering business fronts. Even trees were either uprooted or timbered. Flowerpots, reduced to ceramic splinters. Murals, cratered by inhuman strength. Pavements were growing unstable. The tree Arsenio had collided into lost some upper branches from the invisible brawl. But the echidna was still out cold.

            _“Hey! Hands off the kid, he’s ours!”_ one of the girlish voices squealed.

            _“Not in your miserable lives…Brother!”_

_“I’m on it! Let’s jet!”_

            More squeals could be heard: Apparently, someone had tied the girls up. Stretching a good length and ending in a big bow, the Witchlings were tied up and hanging from the banner pole. Humiliated, they squirmed and wiggled. They’d even been gagged with sweet-tasting bits. One of the males sneered at the sight of the oldest girl’s bloomers.

            _“Hey, don’t incense them now, Bro. Let’s just grab the kid and split.”_

 _“Whoa…what about_ that _guy?”_

            The echidna traveler was struggling to wake. He groaned, as though his brain was swimming everywhere except in his skull. His arms didn’t heed his instruction to push him up. Cheek against the dirt, he snarled. After a minute’s push, he gave up and rested there. Unaware of the two young men in front of him.

            Photogenic opposites, a pair of hedgehogs—very much like the Sentinel—gave Arsenio concerned looks. Their robes almost matched, but theirs featured more silvery tones. Within their opalescent chests were gold-looking feathers. The coercive twin clicked his tongue. “He looks terrible. Should we leave him?”

            “It wouldn’t be right, since he obviously needs help. I’ll give him a quick perk. Take up that kid while I’m at it.” The more kindhearted twin knelt down next to Arsenio.

            Stylo’s limp form hung in a careful nestle in the young man’s hold. Nothing came from the boy, no sounds, no movements; the Sage holding him couldn’t keep a straight face. Worry dotted in his eyes.

            “There! He’ll be fine.” Stern gazes met. “Let’s not make him wait, Brother. He hates it when we do that, y’know.” One set of eyes gave the other a good-natured wink.

            The other twin snorted.

_“Hey! Get back ‘ere! At least let us back down, yah?! Cowards! Get us down from ‘ere!”_

            Powerful leaps propelled the twins upward. They bounded over rooftop after rooftop; bluish-green dirt devils swirled around one Sage’s ankle, while greenish-blue ones helped out the other. High over Spagonia, a sanctuary stood. Probably the most treasured establishment—way before the University’s time—a huge coliseum overlooked the city and the sea. Situated on a small mountain itself, it would take two hours for a normal person to walk there, maybe less than one if they drove. But the building-tops were a literal breeze to those mysterious twins. Effortless vaults brought them closer and closer to the stony ring.

            Yet, nothing interrupted Stylo’s slumber.

            “We’re coming…!”

            “He’s waiting for us in Ippolita’s Coliseum.”

 

 

In the Wind Brothers’ Entrance, Amen.


	7. The Flame-Bringer's Clutches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Moderate language and intensely suggestive scenes ahead. CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

**Verse Six – The Flame-Bringer’s Clutches**

 

 **Ippolita’s Coliseum** – Approaching **mid-afternoon** …

 

“…Well, he said he’d be here. We’ve just gotta wait for him, that’s all.”

            “Oh, so is this what he calls revenge or something—we had to haul it _all_ the way out here, get this kid, and now _he_ makes _us_ wait for him?”

            “Easy there, Bro. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you don’t calm down.” The less combative twin waved the other down.

            Beneath the overcast sky, Stylo was still comatose and laying at their feet. Halfway curled, the white hedgehog looked better in the face: It wasn’t contorted or grimacing. A fairly placid smile had taken a spot on it, actually. The sweeter twin had noticed it first, and smiled at him.

            Kneeling down again, he stroked the boy’s head. His quills softened to his touch. “Yeah. There’s something special about this one…” He sounded like he’d come to a realization about something. “No wonder the Angels are fawning over him.” He let out a relieved chuckle.

            His brother looked over to see him. Relieved in a sense as well, his smirk was tiny. After it came a single finger-snap.

* * *

 

_Undulant choirs rolled through the whiteness. Impressive light brightened everything beneath. Cotton dust sparkled. Feathers traipsed back and forth in the space._

_“HESITANCE QUAVERS YOUR JUDGMENT. ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?”_

_Unrepeatable syllables washed over the Sentinel’s conscience. The broad countenance on the Auditio of Courage remained emotionless. His candid words rang through the Sage’s heart. Slung across his back was a large hourglass. That gold, horned visor lowered._

_“I must. There is no way I can go back on my word, now. Please…” His forehead tapped against the Auditio’s marble. Masterly wings folded down and embraced him. “Lend me your strength.”_

_A serpentine tail swayed in a pensive rhythm. “GO ON AS YOU HAVE SINCE THE BEGINNING, CHILD OF LIGHT. HE WILL REGARD YOU. I PROMISE YOU MY PROTECTION AND GUIDANCE, DEAR SON.” Red and blue dragon heads let out low screeches, as if to comfort the Sage. A gentle hand stroked the face’s bridge. “DO NOT DESPAIR.”_

_The Sentinel retained the Cardinal’s words. But then, a mild tenderness had braced his heart._

 

* * *

Intersecting upper arches were made incomplete because of decay. Centuries of worship blessed its foundation. Unrelenting faith seemed to keep it in proper shape. Or perhaps from the kindness of Father Balder’s heart, the Coliseum had been partly restored, restricted, and prided as a historical monument where no one could disturb its peace. The stadium was named after a little girl who lost her life there some centuries ago; a biography of hers stood near the entranceway.

            A disk of light blossomed forth above the Coliseum’s crown. Like rippling water, the light expelled the Sentinel. He stepped off a long, marbled tail to balance on the wall’s curve. The hourglass made its way through just fine, as well. Soon enough, the rippling light disappeared after the tail. The afternoon sun peeked through the clouds’ sheeting.

            The Sentinel’s gilded half-mask cast a downward gleam.

            After its sharp flicker the young Lumen Sage, Stylo, was locked in its view. He continued to sleep. A pair of doglike Angels had curled up, surrounding him with their warmth. One let out a docile purr, nuzzling the hedgehog’s head.

**Fairness**

_Second Sphere Virtues_

 

 

* * *

_Stylo felt a lot warmer in confidence, this time. Horns and clarions rumbled through the air. Two little fingers waved back and forth; like a junior conductor, Stylo yelped out playful rhythms. “Hup, hup! Hup, hup! Forward—march!”_

_The Ardor Angel shouldering him bristled its golden wings. It marched, proud and tall, to show its valor. Stylo applauded its strength, in awe of its serrated broadsword and segmented shield. He clapped vivaciously. “You can save lots of people, now! Yippee!”_

_It stopped at an edge to oversee the mobilization. A pair of Fairness padded up to their sides. They howled, prepared for battle. Intense heat tickled Little Stylo’s cheeks. He giggled. “Yeah, go get ‘em!”_

_Laughing Enchants vaulted on ahead. Applauds trained their Affinity battalions to follow them. A broad gate rippled before them. Higher above, shining outlines were too strangely shaped to be clouds. Some were bulky; others, more streamlined._

* * *

 

 

“Mm…ugh…Huh? What, where am I?”

            Stylo sat up gently, but soon noticed extra warmness. A pair of furnace-hot bodies had curled around him. Yet, for one reason or another, their heat was no hotter than a cup of tea. Stylo blinked a little, seeing both hulking quadrupeds lift their heads to him. From each side of him, he was greeted by somewhat excited yaps. “Oh, hey there…were you two keeping me warm? I thought I was with someone else…?” One of the Angels tilted its head. “I heard their voice in my sleep, I think…?”

            The Lumen fledgling took his time getting to his feet. A slight throb wobbled against his temple. “There was a battle…and that cat-Witch…did she lose? Did she flee?” He threw his eyes around. But he took a moment to watch a Fairness sniffing at where Stylo had woken from. The other sniffed at Stylo’s clothes and joined in on the investigation. Charmed by their effort, Stylo couldn’t hide his smile. “I know I’ll find her if I’ve got _you two_ on the case,” he reassured them emphatically, grinning.

            One of the Fairness galloped back to his side and nuzzled him. The Angel was much bigger than Stylo was, even at his mostly grown height of 4’7”. Stylo found himself losing a bit of balance from the Angel’s playfulness. “Whoa, you’re so big…you must have a lot of power underneath all that armor. What with so many lives you have to protect, right?” Nuzzling brought the hedgehog’s face closer to the Fairness’s. Its haloed tail wagged.

            The other one, tracking a scent back towards the entrance, halted. It shot its head up and froze. Stylo caught sight of it. It seemed to be listening to something.

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 11** – **Near the same time** …

 

“—Wait till I get my ‘ands on those ne’er-do-evil twins! I’ll wring their spin’ly li’l necks like spring-ly chickens, yes I will!”

            The Lolita Sisters had remained in their hanging position. The most agitated one, apparently the middle of the three, made the most movement. It was enough to swing them back and forth, as well as annoy the oldest. Dressed in classic swashbuckler uniforms, the girls may have matched, but donned individual tastes: The one making idle threats resembled more of an army general than a pirate captain, in her olive-green tones. However, decaled with a winged skull-and-crossbones, trimmed in copper cording, and tailed with a large plume, her chiefly tricorn spoke volumes in her stead. The little raccoon kicked her modernized Victorian boots about in a furious tirade. If someone wasn’t careful, their vicious points could easily go into their head. She couldn’t reach for the ship anchor charm on her coat’s tail.

            “I’ll crush those Angel kissers into pulps! Lemme at ‘em—lemme at ‘em!”

            The oldest girl, a pink hedgehog, could feel a vein pulsing somewhere on her head. Her uniform was more on the maroon side. Frilled in rosy pink, her captain’s coat also bore a pink rose on its backside. Her hat bore a lacy heart-shaped Jolly Roger, with thorny vines trailing around instead of silk ribbons. Her ankle boots crept up to her knees, to accent the fluffy skirts that hiked up. There was nothing she could do about her silk bloomers, though.

            “Will ya stop flailing your legs, Pele? You’re making us swing around the pole…and not in a good way!”

            “I just wanna bash their skulls in as much as you do, Bellona! What’re ya getting mad at me for?!”

            The third and youngest girl, a rabbit, seemed purely unamused. Her rich violet scheme could make an eggplant blush. Embellished with toy-shaped items, her uniform was the most “tamed” out of the three. Longer lavender underskirts covered her knees, and her captain’s coat had bell sleeves—complete with chiefly cuffs—compared to the raccoon and hedgehog girls’ vest cuts. Her boots looked the oldest, stitched and hemmed with Granny patterns. Her tricorn, wrapped in silver charms—like a rattle, a toy block, and sheep, was brimmed with pale-indigo waves with an onion-shaped Jolly Roger painted on the front. Much like the shape of the doll’s she carried.

            “I’m getting mad at your kicking, more than anything! _I’m_ getting tired just looking at you! So stop it—it’s not gonna get us down any quicker!”

            “I dun’t see _you_ comin’ up wit any brighter ideas, Prissy Witch!”

            “Don’t talk to your sister that way, Pele.” The rabbit girl’s tone was eerily calm. “Menhit’s here to get us down, anyway.”

            A ripple in space appeared underneath them. Then, a sudden detachment brought the trio through it and to the ground.

            Over their grumbles, someone was dragging Arsenio by the collar towards them. A bold swagger made those pumps— _clack, clack,_ _clack!_ —even louder. “What a shame, Bellona, Pele, Victoria, for you to let that boy escape like that.” The woman, apparently Menhit, tossed the echidna against the wall. A jarring sensation sensitized him, forcing him to sharply awaken. “All you needed to do was this…!”

            Arsenio held the back of his head. Sore all over, he snarled. “Shit, it feels like that truck hit me after all…! Dammit, my back…?” But before he could get up, something invaded the in-between of his legs. “Holy shit—who’s this?!”

            “Hi there, big boy. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?” The mysterious woman leaned in closer. A sly lick dampened the man’s lips. After witnessing a furious blush, she moved closer. “You didn’t happen to see a hedgehog skirt by here, did you?”

            “Ahh…I don’t…h-umm, you mean, uhh…gah, what’s that kid’s name again?”

            The Lolita Sisters managed to escape their bind and get back up. The youngest one, Victoria, dusted off her skirts and coat, while Pele and Bellona looked on.

            “Oh, don’t worry about names, _my kind sir_.” The emphasis rolled from her throat. Her piercing sky-blues sank into Arsenio’s heart, making it pump faster. A wily hand felt around his chest, before curling under his remaining shirt buttons. Ripping them apart. The quick glide had thrown Arsenio’s head out of equilibrium; his arousal was starting to cloud his judgment, his memory. “I just wanted to know if you’d seen him. And, apparently, we’ve got the same person in mind. Now, my second and last question, I promise….” She snuck in a smooch on his cheek, dangerously close to his lips’ corner. “Do you like it soft or hard?”

            Arsenio’s mouth let out a free-flowing track of saliva. This woman had single-handedly subdued him? She obviously knew what she was doing and, oddly, where Arsenio’s “hotspots” were. But it was strange for her to come onto him like this—in the midst of ruin, after whatever had attacked him and snatched up Stylo, wasn’t it? Except it was all melting away, now. This woman was making him forgive and forget the events that transpired— _literally,_ with one hand. “To be…straight witchu…I don’t care,” came an agonized breath.

            Menhit blinked. Then, grinned. “My my, such an excellent example you’ve been to my little sisters.” Suddenly, she snatched herself away. Replacing her hand was her foot. The pump’s outsole was suddenly pressing on Arsenio’s crotch. In that gymnastic movement, she proved her flexibility and mercilessness at once.

            Panicked, Arsenio burst into a cold sweat. “H-Hey! Whoa there, lady, what’s your problem— _you_ came onto _me_ , remember?!”

            Bellona looked annoyed. “Pervert.”

            Pele crossed her arms. “Lecher.”

            Victoria hugged her doll closer. “Skirt-chaser.”

            Unfortunately, the girls’ presence and comments made the situation all the more awkward for him. Blood redirected itself to his face. The woman’s sole began to squish against his bulge. All that pressure could’ve made Arsenio’s eyes pop out of his head. “What the…! What’re _you_ even doing here?! Are you with her?! This ain’t no place for kids to be running around, got it?!”

            “Whateve’. Says you, lecher.” Pele stuck her tongue out at her. Pulling down her eyelid.

            “We’ve gotten what we needed from him.” She flicked her hair back. Cool, calm, collected, she lowered her shades onto her face.

            “But…what about me? You’re just gonna leave me like this?” the echidna snapped at her.

            “Hot and bothered?” A searing glare pierced over her glasses’ tilt. It pinned him to the wall. And so did a steely flash. The man’s knees wobbled. His blush morphed from pleasure to vexation to flat-out fear. That cold sweat had grown colder. But the woman snapped right back: “Better to leave you _that_ way than cold and dead, no?” Returning to a cooler temperature, she tilted her shades back up.

            That demonic _katana_ was right under his chin. Evil wails wisped from the blade. Unsure of he was just hearing things, Arsenio hugged the wall. She gave him a low chirrup, and sheathed the sword effortlessly. His gulp was loud.

            “Let’s get going. That boy’s close,” the older Witch sashayed away, signaling the Lolita trio to follow. They followed, tiptoeing at her heels. They _click-clacked_ out of Arsenio’s earshot. Out of his sight.

            Despite the fear still laced in his blood, Arsenio’s spacey-eyed stare never truly went away. “Who _is_ she…?” Neither did the bulge in his pants.

 

 **Back at Ippolita’s Coliseum** …

 

The Fairness Angel waited. It had tensed up, snarling, ready to belt out a fuming roar. Its partner stalked forward, as if to shield Stylo. The hedgehog, however, was baffled. Something was either coming or there already. “Someone’s out there…Is it the cat-Witch?” He furrowed his brows. _“Did she come back for a rematch?”_

            “Leave the Witches to them, Lumen acolyte.”

            Stylo’s fur prickled. His eyes quivered. _“That voice…!”_ It scratched against the rustic stone, the dilapidated walls and columns. The boy had flinched at the shallow echo. He threw his sights behind him, but saw no one. Then, an upward glance.

            Lo, stood the Sentinel. Beholding Stylo with his masked gaze.

            _“It’s him—the Sentinel!”_

            “Welcome to Ippolita’s Coliseum. There are two reasons why I’ve brought you here…but I’m giving you a chance to eliminate the second one, right now.”

            “What? You kidnap me, and suddenly _you’re_ the one making offers?” Stylo growled at the Sentinel’s unresponsiveness. “Before I do _any_ thing, you tell me who you are! Why did you attack me back there? Spagonia is in shambles because of you and your Laguna hordes! Why would you attack a perfectly good, defenseless town like that?” Stylo gritted his teeth, balling his hands tightly. “You’ve hurt…a lot of people, y’know that? What kind of agent of light does that, huh?” the boy berated him. Tears had welled up. An aggressive snarl escaped. “Angels are supposed to be good, and Sages work in tandem with them…to do good, right? Then, what is this? Look at what you’ve done! The city is burning down there!” He threw a finger at the exit behind him. “Go and save them—save those people, right now!”

            “I cannot bring back the dead, nor should I interfere with the dying…child of light.” The coldness in the Sentinel’s words struck Stylo’s heart like an arrow. “Your awareness of Angels impresses me. Your allegiance with the Light was fated, indeed. And that is good.” A slight movement made the mask flicker again. “But your naïveté astounds me. We are but earthly vessels, infinitesimally similar to the Divine. This world, Earth, is Chaos incarnate, my child. The Lumen Sages are overseers of history, as gifted to us by the Creator. Not all good spawns from good, and not all evil spawns from evil; that is the disorderly logic Earth thrives by.”

            An authoritative aura brightened around him. Stylo was made speechless again by the unknown man’s indistinguishable beauty. The sun’s rays only made him more godlike in appearance. Captivated tears drooled over his eyelids.

            “We, in our physical flesh, will never truly grasp Divinity in all its glory. We can become messengers, saints, priests, earthly commanders that harness powers beyond our own understanding…but all pale in comparison to the Creator. As it is meant to be. She knows our limitations; we are only human. She created us with them, but a sacred few—Brothers of the Light—are given a special place in her heart.” He smoothed a hand over his opal pendant. The vermilion feather inside resembled one of a peacock. “Our duties are the same, Lumen apprentice. Our methods may differ, but…our mission is the same.”

            Something about the Sentinel’s pause made a question raise in Stylo’s mind. “Then what is your mission? What are the Lumen Sages tasked with doing? And this Creator…she rules and resides in Heaven, so she should be overseeing all of this!” He threw an accusatory finger at the senior Sage. “And I’ll bet she’s really disappointed in you right now! Letting all those people get hurt—even die!”

            “Be not dismayed by such casualties, Lumen acolyte. They counted towards this moment, our meeting here. It is imperative to impart something to you, as you are very inexperienced in the path of light.”

            Stylo gawked at the Sage, a bit disheartened by the cruelness of his expression. Those people were sacrificed just so they could meet? But with suspense hanging in the air between them, he reasoned to hear him out. Stylo had to admit he was inexperienced in the Hermetic Arts. But something about this Sage felt powerful, intimidating, in an imposing “there’s no way you can defeat me” kind of way.

            Even the following words he spoke made Stylo’s skin creep: “I am not your enemy. So I am giving you a choice. In it, you must trust your heart. You must either continue on your path—this sunlit path toward preservation—or make me your enemy by ensnaring yourself with those who tread the path of darkness.”

            Stylo’s eyes widened. “Those who…tread the path of darkness?” Curious all the more, Stylo remembered something. “Are you talking about the Witches—the Umbra Witches? If you are, then please teach me how to fight them! They’re our enemy, right? You were able to fair just fine against that cat-Witch, so…I want you to teach me!”

            An unseen twinge straightened the Sentinel’s back. His hands left their fold slowly.

            “Please,” Stylo pushed, “teach me how to fight Witches!”

            Nothing was returned. Only for a pensive silence to enhance the suspense. A gentle breeze brought up the hems of both Sages’ robes. The Sentinel’s tabard flowed in elegance. The cowl had lowered to reveal only his mouth and cheeks. Ruby beads danced under the hood’s confines.

            Stylo’s robes looked rudimentary to him. Nothing advanced, nothing intermediary—a pure-hearted novice, a lamb to the immense knowledge he himself had ascertained. But an odd sense of longing braced his heart.

            His Cupid’s bow danced as he announced his decision: “You possess the means to do so, already.”

 

 

In the Flame-Bringer’s Clutches, Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: The sentences in all caps represent Auditio Enochian; therefore, the Enochian I cannot fully translate.
> 
> Quick Edit: Fairness entry added.


	8. In Labors and Dangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood/gore and violence ahead. CONTINUE AT YOUR OUR RISK.

**Verse Seven – In Labors and Dangers**

 

 **Lucia Mission** – **Meanwhile** …

 

The orphanage boys were engaged in a healthy game of tag. Their ever-vigilant principal watched over the game, enforced no cheating, and even changed the rules a bit to keep the boys on their toes. Coming up the road was a pair of modest-looking girls. In their baskets were snacks and milk. The blonde one waved to the principal. Her copper-haired partner did as well, in a slightly more tomboyish way. “Hello, Principal! It’s snack time for the kiddies!”

            Some of the boys were caught off-guard by the call. “Hey! Big Sister Francis, don’t call us ‘kiddies’—Yeah, we’re gonna be men before ya know it!” a couple of them protested, but still managed to lead the rest into a charismatic crowd around them.

            “No worries, boys,” the blonde girl spoke up, her voice reassuring and sweet. She showed the basket on each arm. “There’s some for everyone!”

            “Get to the breakfast nook, class,” the Principal ordered, waving them into a double-file line through the orphanage’s doors. “Come now, no pushing, no yelling.” Returning his attention to the two girls, he smiled. “Thank you for your kindheartedness, Miss Francis, Miss Helen. Such generosity must be recompensed.” He bowed, almost apologetically.

            “Nah, it’s no prob,” Francis insisted, scratching the back of her head.

            “We figured we could share some food from the pantry we did yesterday.” Helen giggled. “And don’t worry—it’s all still good.”

            “I can’t thank you enough.” The Principal bowed again.

            The girls looked to each other. Then, gave each other a smile: Helen’s was cute, while Francis showed a peek of tongue.

* * *

 

“What is the meaning of this?! Where has Stylo gone?”

            Father Sigmund folded his hands together in response. “In his letter, he said he’s gone to start a new life in Spagonia. Perhaps even pick up a penchant in university life and study for a while.” The portly cat shook his head a little. “He could run into a variety of penchants. Studying at the University isn’t really a bad thing.”

            “What’s bad here, Sigmund, is that he’s left the premises—1) without permission, and 2) he’s gone off all by himself! To leave a runaway letter, like this…!” Father Pieria’s blood was beginning to boil. “Has this boy spat on our guidance and protection?!”

            “I do not believe so, Pieria.” The old man, Father Nestor, appeared in the Lumen apprentice’s bedroom after them. In hand was Stylo’s handwritten farewell letter. The elderly echidna gave it another skim before approaching the young man’s bed. “He has simply entered an insightful stage of his life. It is what most young people like him must go through, just like we ourselves have.” The old man smiled faintly.

            The albatross and Maine coon gave each other a somewhat despondent exchange.

            “Fear not, brothers. It’s time for him to explore the possibilities, many different opportunities, and the _paths_ in life. He will choose on his own accord what he should pursue. He may stumble or even fall, but life will be his teacher.” A twinge of sadness entered his voice. “It is…out of our hands, now. It is time for us to put _our_ trust in _him._ ”

            The angry flush in Father Pieria’s face had faded. Father Sigmund fidgeted a bit in place.

            “With this abiding faith, I believe with all my heart that Stylo is safe. Even now, mere hours after his leaving.”

            Both his fellow priests bowed their heads.

 

 **Back at Ippolita’s Coliseum** …

 

A pair of saddening howls echoed outside of the ancient entrance. Stylo threw his sights back at them. “Oh no! Fairness!”

            But right after he turned around, a gunshot went off at his back. He flinched, so badly he fell to his knees. He cowered there, after throwing both hands over his head.

            “Don’t worry too much about what he’s feeding you, love. Those people down there aren’t dead; even if they were…what soft buttons you have.” Gun smoke was blown off gently.

            Stylo threw his sights back around. He blinked at the three coattails crowding around a sultrier tail-feather.

            A bloodless knick had appeared on the Sentinel’s cheek. The bullet managed to snatch off a piece of his hood. Unfazed, so much that he didn’t bother to dodge, his gilded visor faced the incoming quartet. Tapered forefingers glided over the wound; like a candle, its heat warmed it soothingly. The damaged flesh smoothed over on itself, as if through cauterization. Just as the Witches began to move into a formation, the Sentinel’s scar was gone. His skin, good as new.

            “Wait! Hold on—I’m your opponent, too,” Stylo piped up, rushing up to the womanly Witch. But before the motion could get within earshot, something heavy had slammed into Stylo’s abdomen. The boy reeled, went face-first into the pavement, and curled up to tighten his defense. He coughed up some spittle. “What the heck…was that? It…weighs a ton…!”

            “Shut yer yap, scumbag.” The mouth on that raccoon Witch-ling knew no bounds. Somehow, an anchor had made its way into her hands. Its heavy point dented the pavement near his head. “Y’aint no opponent I can’t beat. Know yer place, ‘cause grownups are talking, now.” She sneered at him.

            A temple vein pulsed in annoyance. “‘Grownups,’ huh? Says you—twerpette!”

            “Acolyte.”

            Stylo’s spine went stiff. The pain in his gut swelled. A gritted fang struggled to face the Sentinel, whose voice bellowed in supreme authority.

            “I must warn you, now: Be wary of the Umbra Witches. You seek my instruction to fight _against_ them…or is it that you seek to learn more about them, to fight _in consort_ with them?” A menacing point stabbed the Lumen student’s face, striking his heart with doubt and fear.

            “N-No! You’ve got it all wrong! I honestly want to fight them…and help you…so I can…become a…?” A couple coughs. “Ugh…What _is_ that?”

            Victoria’s blank countenance unnerved Stylo. “Daydream Powder,” she put it to him bluntly. “Nighty-night, Cutie Sage.” She showed him her doll. It was an extremely dark-purple stuffed toy, with an onion-shaped head, tiny bat wings, and it was sporting a downturned scowl. Its cyan bowtie looked tattered. Its matching eyes looked poisonous. The sugary powder was sprinkling from it as the doll danced in front of him. It smelled sweet, but in a noxious cough-syrupy sense.

            Soon enough, Stylo couldn’t hold his head up anymore. Unable to find good air, Stylo coughed and sneezed interchangeably between breath holds. His fingertips scratched at the floor, desperate to move away. _“This stuff’s…_ killing _me!”_ he had screamed in his mind.

            But Victoria played it off: She even blinked her eyes in a semi-curious manner. “You can’t hold your breath forever, Mister.” As if she weren’t aware of the toxic substance taking hold of him.

            “That’s enough, Victoria,” the lead Witch—Menhit—started, “we need him alive. Besides, I smell a battle brewing….” The swallow tipped her shades with the pistol barrel. “The Sentinel’s got something cooked up for us, girls.”

            The edges of the hourglass flickered. The masked hedgehog’s crimson half-cape flared. An unseen heat rose from underneath him in the form of a mandala. His over-robe’s hems fluttered in midair, as did his trumpet sleeves. Laurel curls faded beyond the elbows—whose hems flared more dangerously. His hood became transparent, like said sleeves. That visor, and its horns, gleamed. Ruby beads danced around in their diadem pattern at his forehead. Just under that tabard, guarding his groin, was a massive plate bearing an Angel’s face. A humanoid face. It was upside-down.

            “Blazing Seal: Laguna Wielding.” A hand was brought up to his chest. Over that opal gem. Over that cinnamon plume. It glittered, prepared for battle. Nimbly, the Sentinel removed it and showed it to the heavens above. Right on time, the clouds parted. Tenderly, he let go, allowing it to float upward. “Come forth—Help me, o Bringer of Flame, Fortitudo!”

            Suddenly, the feather burst with light. In it, a massive halo appeared. The sun, directly behind it, made it blinding.

            But Menhit didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. She actually snickered under her breath. “Bring it, Big Daddy.”

            A colossal Angel appeared amidst its light. Two dragon heads, red and blue, screeched in cooperative fervor. Wings flared bravely; its tail swayed like an impatient tiger. Broad talons clasped onto the Coliseum’s wall, taking the Sentinel’s place. He stuck his somersault on the Flame-Bringer’s knee. Truest gold sparkled, its ivory skin the envy of conquerors of old. Safe and battle-ready, the Sentinel gave Fortitudo’s face a kind stroke. His other hand, on the hourglass.

            “AS PLEDGED UNDER THE HONOR OF THE HIERARCHY…” the upturned face spoke in a clear and dutiful baritone.

            “Hallelujah.” The Sentinel’s nearly musical return brought a tiny smile to the Angel’s face.

 

 **** **Fortitudo **

_Bringer of Flame_

 

            The Lolita Sisters were briefly alarmed by the Angel’s massive, inverted face. Though the visage seemed calm in itself, they knew it was hiding a rather intense fury behind it. Stylo, in his bleariness, felt its overwhelming aura. Reminded, somehow, of the others Angels he’d encountered his distant canaries smiled.

            Things really got rolling when the draconic Angel fired a meteor from each “hand.” It forced the girls to split, but focused enough on them to avoid Stylo. In that nick of time, an Ardor swooped down to relocate him. Protectively, it belted out a battle cry.

 

 **Ardor** 

_Third Sphere Principalities_

 

            An unsteady sigh made its way past the Lumen apprentice’s lips. Things were going to get rough pretty soon. Fear traced itself in the young man’s tears.

            It was Menhit against Fortitudo: Rearming herself with her _katana_ , she snickered as he grew increasingly agitated by her swiftness. The blade-and-gun-slinger dodged his tail and made a few shots to direct attention onto herself. “Hey there—come and get me, big boy!” In retaliation, she jumped away from his weight-charged vault. She snickered again. “Sit on this! Lotus Eater!” At her summon, a web of poisonous-looking vines erupted from a spelled circle’s pit and ensnared Fortitudo. Both feet, wings and dragon heads were trapped. A hummingbird-shaped mask followed right after them. Its long nose stabbed Fortitudo in the eye before sucking up its contents. A ferocious bellow reverberated throughout the stadium.

            Racing along the upper ridge, the Sentinel headed for Stylo. The Ardor that saved him was being cleaved by several heart-stamped butcher knives as Stylo clung to its armor. Its shield took the brunt of the knife rain. It used its sword to maneuver along the wall. “Oh no!” he cried. He threw furious sights down at the ship sailing through the Auditio’s lava. “Lay off! Are you _trying_ to get me killed?”

            “Nah. Just away from _him._ ” The middle Lolita, Pele, aimed a harpoon launcher at the arriving Sentinel. “Y’aint landing a finger on ‘im, mate! Captain’s orders!” Soon after, another quintet was summoned along the starboard side. A very captain-like yell came out of her: “Fire!”

            The six spears flew at the senior Lumen Sage. Without missing a beat, another light sword was unsheathed from the Sentinel’s hand and deflected each and every shot. Stylo cringed away from the one that fell past his shoulder. It plummeted briefly before snagging into a column.

            But Pele sneered. “Your turn, Victoria.”

            “As planned.” The smallest Sister’s emotionless glare made it hard for Stylo to read her intentions. But when the harpoons stopped falling, the Sentinel threw his eyes over to one coming at him. Chains were still connected between the launchers and the spears themselves. It was a perfect opportunity for Victoria to thread some hair into them and manipulated their movements. Like extensions of her fingers, she literally poked at the Sentinel with typist-level dexterity. Her other arm held onto her doll snugly. “He’s being a pain. Hold still, you.”

            Running along the inner walls now, the Lumen Sage ducked and dodged Victoria and Pele’s combined attack. Spearheads aimed for his face, interested in skewering him from a sagittal angle. The Sage’s parries made his path to Stylo more difficult. He prayed that the soldier-Angel’s armor would hold a little bit longer.

            Especially now that the acolyte was losing his temporary line of defense. The boy’s heart thundered from his chest wall into his ears. His hands grappled the Ardor’s breastplate. Frightened tears leaked past his eyelids, those dewy eyelashes.

            “DLUGA ISRO BRANSG, LIBA.”

            A gentle lift brought the white hedgehog into a more comforting hold. He felt the Angel’s hand cradle him from underneath, once its footholds were secured. A deepening sense of caring caressed the Lumen acolyte’s heart as a warm dutifulness emanated from its aura. He reached further up and hugged the Angel’s neck. “Thank you so much.” A teardrop managed to escape.

            Slow and steady saved his life. So far, so good. Making their way toward a stone outcropping, the Ardor crawled along—hopefully not-too-obviously. “Oh goodness,” he chanted, trying not to look down. Once he discovered the Ardor placing him down on it, Stylo threw himself against the Angel’s abdomen. “Yay! Oh thank you, thank you!” As he clung to it for dear life the Ardor would’ve blushed severely, if it possessed a more humanoid face.

            There to ruin the moment, however, was a burgundy pair of Granny boots. As well as a girlish snarl and brutish sweetheart’s sledgehammer.

            Dread weighed down Stylo’s heart. It made him drop his arms. “Aw c’mon!”

            In that very moment, Menhit shot up from behind her. Twirling about, she rivaled a gymnast in grace, but her cool wink was aimed at Stylo, strangely. In a somewhat motherly tone, she reminded Bellona, “Ah-ah-ah. We need him alive, remember?”

            Seeing her land at her back, the oldest Sister puckered her lips. “I wasn’t gonna kill him, per se.”

            With only his red dragon-head left, Fortitudo fired another meteor blast. It was much bigger than the others he’d unleashed, meaning that the battle was approaching its last leg. Energy must’ve poured into that attack because it looked like it could take out the Coliseum wall, if it hit.

            Suddenly, the area was engulfed by a body-slowing, thought-lodging sensation. The igneous blast could be analyzed thoroughly in that moment. Which was something Bellona did. She turned around, many times faster than the fireball coming at them, and tilted her head.

            “Witch Time?”

            “Only long enough to move out of the way.”

            “What about the kid? He’ll get burned to a crisp.”

            “No worries. The Sentinel isn’t that callous.”

            When time resumed, Fortitudo’s attack connected with the Coliseum wall. It exploded—that section, utterly destroyed. Masses of broken stone and blistering lava ran off the edge.

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 18** , the leisure district…

 

Hovering high above Spagonia’s shopping district were the Wind Brothers. The abrupt expulsion of masonry and lava surely quivered the mountainside. Those reverberations made their way south and shook up the hillside Wards all the way down to the first couple commerce Wards. Including the Polyglot Café. Its shop front looked like a Beloved had been thrown into it.

            “…Heh, exactly.”

            “See? The worst that’s happened was a store getting its face smashed in and a couple of tremors. The lava’s done an even bigger no-no, but _that_ wasn’t our doing.”

            The twins shrugged their shoulders. A bit of tongue poked out from the more aggressive twin’s mouth, while the docile one gave a kidlike wink. “We blame our ‘Big Brother’ for that one,” they reiterated in unison.

            “All the damage that’s been sustained has taken place in Purgatorio, correct?”

            The twins blinked. One scratched the back of his head while the other gave a nervous chuckle. “Eh…for the most part, yeah,” the latter drawled.

            “Oh dear. I don’t like the sound of that….”

 

 **Ippolita’s Coliseum** – **While** **the debris cleared** …

 

_“Hey, quick question.”_

            “No!” The Hourglass was retracted from its sling across the Sentinel’s back. It burst in radiant blue colors.

            _“Yes?”_

            With a hint of desperation, the Sentinel flung the artifact toward the shattered wall. “Reset: Chaos Control!”

            _“Did the Sentinel know that girl…Ippolita?”_

            The blue gleams brightened. Interlocked pyramids undulated before unleashing a blue spiral galaxy. It engulfed the area that was destroyed, as well as sapped the lava from the battlefield. A rapid time reversal then proceeded: the wall, columns, and outcroppings flew back into place, as if they had never broken.

_“I can’t say that he did. Perhaps Fortitudo does…since the Coliseum was built in his honor. The history he’s spoken of, in Ippolita’s regard, is that she was a little girl who’d been falsely accused of being a Witch. In light of the truth, Fortitudo saved her soul and escorted her to Heaven…”_

            Menhit raced along one of the uppermost crests. Her blade crossed over her chest, ready to quickly slice anything that got in her way. In her other hand was a grayish-purple pistol. The silver padlock-and-key charm clinked.

            When the Hourglass reappeared, the dragon Angel flashed his sights to the Sentinel. Nearly reflexively, his tail broke the Sage’s fall. He, in turn, caught a glimpse of the Ardor and Stylo fleeing from the Lolita Sisters, whose ship had marooned on a pile of slabs. Victoria had lost control of the harpoons, while Pele and Bellona directed their tantrums at their escapees. Relief marked his lowered face after seeing Stylo cling to the Angel, asking if it was alright.

            “SENTINEL, WE’VE LOST OUR TILT IN BATTLE,” scolded Fortitudo, bringing the hedgehog closer to his face. “YOU’VE GIVEN THOSE WITCHES OUR EDGE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

            “I’ve protected _him_ …the Son of Light.”

            Massive talons clasped the stadium wall once more. The red dragonhead let out a low growl. “Isn’t that more important, here?” At the Sentinel’s remark, Fortitudo’s face made a contorted scowl. Of both frustration and yielding. “Trust me, just as I trust you, o mighty Flame-Bringer.” His sincerity made roses of devotion blossom behind Fortitudo’s mask.

_“He says he specifically gave that place her name to remind people not to be too quick to judge, that such actions must be left to the Hierarchy. Because it can lead to atrocious acts, many involving the innocent and the blameless…”_

            “Hey! Up here, big guy!”

            Right on Menhit’s cue, the red dragonhead fired off another ball of molten lava. She dived straight for it, aiming her firearm, and fired powerful shots in rapid succession. It cracked, slowly but surely. Their paths were closing in on each other; Menhit smirked. Her _katana_ blade glowed hauntingly. “ _Tengu_ Piercing!” Furious pecks cratered the rock’s face. Rapid succession worked best for her, it seemed. A master of speed, the swallow-Witch’s attack forced the rock to crumble, there in seemingly slowed-down time. Flawlessly, she corkscrewed through it and aimed straight for the Sentinel.

            In retaliation, Fortitudo made a quick jab at her. Attempting to devour her, the red dragonhead reached out with jaws agape.

            “Hrrraaaaagh!”

            Suddenly, there came a wild howling. Out of absolute nowhere, fiery claws pounced down on Fortitudo’s “arm.” Merciless claws grappled it, the dragon screeching in rebellion.

            “Quiet, Lizardhands!” The cat-Witch, Jyeshta, had returned. Somehow in a frenzy, she promised, “I’ll slice you into clean bits…I give my word.” Her eyes blazed in demonic fury. “Berserk Scissor!” Angelic blood splattered every which way once her claws began cutting into the dragonhead’s flesh. Dying shrieks escaped. All four talons buzzed through it like chainsaws.

            “Fortitudo!” the Sentinel cried out, escaping the newcomer’s range.

            Unfortunately, he’d entered Menhit’s.

            “Where’s the rush? You’re not getting away!” Spiked down sprouted in a provocative design over the lead Witch’s body. A distinct X crisscrossed her torso, joining with the V between her thighs. Crossing her arms in front of her face, a strong magical force halted her descent. “Memories forced asunder— **AGRAA ORS**!”

            A huge magical circle expelled more spiky down. Dark-purple feathers weaved together, winding and curling about. Until a monstrous bird-shaped demon appeared. Wings of darkness manifested; crimson talons perched on top of Fortitudo’s already massive body. It let out a ravenous shriek. An evil counterpart to the translucent white tome Stylo sometimes saw appeared from the circle’s depths.

 

 **Malphas** 

_Infernal Demon Crow_

 

            High above, Stylo’s eyes watered. “No way…! There’s no way an Auditio can lose! Don’t let that thing beat you!”

            “Well, just face it—the Auditio’s lost!”

            One more heart-stamped cleaver burrowed straight into the Ardor’s shoulder blade. That wing left useless, the Angel struggled to safely land. “Oh no! You’re hurt again!” it heard the hedgehog’s cry. It shook its head. In time’s slimmest nick, the Ardor’s claws scraped against the Coliseum’s outer wall. Without a moment to lose, Stylo was slung on top of the wall, lying flat. But the boy’s quick reflexes told him to try pulling the Angel back up to safety. “No! No, please, it’s not over! Please stay with me!” His hands were so small compared to the angelic knight’s. “You’re so strong, you were so awesome protecting me like that! I’m scared!” But his grip wasn’t strong to hold all of its bulk. “Please don’t leave me! Please don’t die!”

            “HOXMAR-IP,” the Ardor advised him. Heartbroken by the boy’s desperation, he reassured him. “ZIR PERIPSAX. IXOMAXIP…EXENTASER.”

            “No…Please wait…! I want to s—?!”

            But a flurry of kitchen utensils showered through the remains of the Angel’s armor. All styles of skewers, knives, and forks—stamped with all-too-familiar pink hearts. Stylo’s heart stopped; all that filled his ears was the Ardor’s defeated, yet heroic, battle cry. It burst like a balloon, its blood splattering across the hedgehog’s clean coat, his robes, his hands and face. Mind numbed by it all, Stylo shed tears of utter devastation.

            “Humph, a final speech? How cliché.” There was a biting disdain in Victoria’s otherwise blank expression. She and her sisters all sailed away at an almost stalking pace. The large metal hull take its time rounding back towards Stylo.

            From the Coliseum below, Fortitudo unleashed a boiling battle cry, even as he lay dying. It threw off Menhit’s trajectory after her demon summon receded into the portal. She was forced to land off to the side. Jyeshta seemed immune to it, so she moved in for the final blow. Razor claws prone, she made a leap and soared towards Fortitudo’s face. “I’ll deface you! And let you blister in his mouth’s hellfire—!”

            “Enough!”

            A powerful roundhouse went into Jyeshta’s back. The cat-girl lost her aim; the fire in her talons flickered out. The kick took her into—and through—the incomplete balustrade. She tumbled away, stopping on her side. “Damn you, Sage…” she managed to spit out.

            A bright flash swallowed the Sentinel and the Auditio. “With my current power I cannot fully restore you, o mighty Flame-Bringer. But I can still wield you…only in a different form.” The hedgehog Sage placed his palm against the Angel’s face—what was left of it. Half of it was left completely hollow; the lead Witch’s summon had proven its voracious hunger. One eye, on the left side, survived, as well as his lower jaw. “You fought nobly, tried and true, as always. Now…” An opalescent brilliance emerged, blanketed the Auditio’s form, and struck upward. “With this splendent power, I shall raise you from your suffering and sanctify you once more. In return, I shall be promised even further protection and power…! Your strength will be my safeguard, your courage will incinerate my enemies! I shall combine our powers, and you shall be reborn!”

            As more light radiated, the Sentinel leaned in and planted a dutiful kiss upon Fortitudo’s temple. Through it, Fortitudo’s last words were, “MAY THE CREATOR, JUBILEUS, GRACE YOU.”

* * *

 

 

The flash died down, and the Sentinel was gone. At the very last, he’d brought up Fortitudo’s reincarnated form before taking out the Hourglass. A source of Chaos Powers, the Hourglass could not only reset damage with time manipulation, but also teleport users to various, different locations. Although, the Umbra Witches didn’t know where he’d fled to.

            “Wow…the nerve of that bloke,” Pele tossed out carelessly. She folded her hands behind her head. “He actually ditched this kid…an’at’s really sayin’ somethin’ if it’s coming from me!”

            “Yea verily,” Bellona had to agree, steering the hull closer to the novice-Sage. But she noticed that he wasn’t moving. He hadn’t made a sound since that Ardor had been killed. The incomplete ship was right in front of him, and he still hadn’t moved.

            “What gives? He’s just sittin’ there.” Pele scratched underneath her hat. “He ain’t gonna escape or noffin’?”

            “Pathetic, crying over spilt milk.” Another bitterness marked little Victoria’s tone. “Just get some more.”

            From below, Menhit helped Jyeshta to her feet. The swallow smirked at the cat-girl’s discourteous snort. “Well, I think we’ve earned ourselves a ‘mission complete.’ Wouldn’t you say, love?”

            “Feh! Getting the kid wasn’t the problem. It was that damn Sage summoning that pitiful excuse for a flamethrower into battle. He knew it was going to lose…” She followed alongside Menhit. “So why bother?”

            “So, are you saying an Auditio is easier to deal with than a Lumen Sage, now?”

            “Not necessarily. Just bothersome.”

            Menhit noted the heavy glower on Jyeshta’s face. She smirked, redirected her gaze upward, and saw Victoria approaching Stylo. _“That kid’s…gotta be_ really _something…”_

            Daydream Powder was sprinkled onto the junior Sage’s nose. It went unnoticed, mostly. But Stylo’s body remained completely still. Tears dried, cleansing the Ardor’s blood from his face. In fine streaks it cascaded. Pure, clean lines contoured Stylo’s jawline.

            Coldly, the youngest Lolita’s doll danced over his face. “Let’s try this again.”

            Sooner rather than later, the powder’s effects kicked in. It’d made its way into Stylo’s nervous system and began throwing his equilibrium out of whack. A dizzy sensation interrupted his thoughts, ghostly images—unsure of their presence—wandered back and forth in his vision.

            “Nighty-night, Cutie-Sage…” Bellona and Pele’s voices rang in unsteady volumes.

            The boy’s eyelashes fluttered, exhausted canaries lolled backward. A moan escaped his lips before his body gave way to swimmy darkness.

            _“If it’s got those two bickering over him.”_

 

 

In Labors and Dangers, Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: Spelling change from "Jyeshtha" to "Jyeshta" - Easier on the eyes. And my Word Processor.


	9. A Song that Fills One's Heart

**Verse Eight – A Song that Fills One’s Heart**

 

 **Spagonia Train Station** – **Hours after the Coliseum battle** …

 

 _Ker-snap._ A silver watch had shut. The conductor’s white glove pocketed it. “All aboard!”

            One cabin, dripping with modern luxury, held Father Balder and the pair of professors—Richard Mandrake from Spagonia University and another visiting from overseas. The trio of men sat together, amidst the CEO’s entourage. The atmosphere was somehow suffocating to Prof. Mandrake: He noticed the distinctive style of the first-class car, with the panoramic windows, columned lighting, even the luggage racks and seats themselves received special attention. Sun motifs made themselves known. Stamped in lines and on the seat covers, the intricately simple rayed star appeared. The actual star also skated toward the opposite end of the sky. Gilded gleams skipped across the accompanying professor’s glasses; he’d tilted them higher on his nose.

            “Something troubles you, good sir?”

            Prof. Mandrake veered his sights over to the tallest man he’d ever met. Spotted with a slightly bitter tea, Balder had seen the concern in the older man’s tiny eyes. Keen and sharp-tongued usually, Balder was surprisingly compassionate. Unlike when the earthquake rattled the city; then, he’d been nonchalant with an authoritative air.

            “Ah…about earlier today, in fact.” Aged folds didn’t allow for much of his concern to show. “That rumble…was it an earthquake? It’s impossible for a region like Spagonia to experience such a rough magnitude. If my guesses are correct, I’d say it could’ve been anywhere up to a 4.3, but…?”

            “You needn’t worry about that any longer.” Balder’s lips greeted his herbal tea. Elegantly minding the train’s G-forces, his gloved hand took up the tulip-shaped cup. “My agents have taken care of the problem. A bit unfortunate, really…for this incident to occur. Evacuations have been successful, however; that much I am able to say.”

            “But, sir! My home…it’s burning—even as we flee! Who or what could’ve possibly done this? Invaders? Terrorists?”

            “It’s difficult to imagine ‘invaders’ in this day and age, Prof. Mandrake.” He set down his teacup. “But there is one thing I must remind you of.”

            Another gleam flickered across the second professor’s glasses.

            “Spagonia is the ancient homeland to both the clansmen of Light and Darkness, so I am just as heartbroken as you…” The day was leaving them, just as they were departing from the day. “But I trust that Spagonia’s upper Wards are still safe, mostly undamaged. The city-wide evacuation is only temporary, my good sirs…both you and Prof. Ulrich.” The other man referred nodded slowly. “Your alma mater is in blesséd hands. We of Ithavoll Group will make sure of that.”

            The corporation CEO held his tongue for a moment. The sunset beamed over hilly pastures. Meadows married with the more temperate soil, a loose dirt road winding towards the mountain range ahead. Ahead of another small town in those mountains was the hamlet of Lucia. Tiny, well-hidden—it made the CEO want to stop the train.

            A clever gleam entered his naked eye. “And, if necessary…we, Brothers of the Light, will restore this sacred home to its former glory.”

 

* * *

_A wonderful voice lilted across an Elysian-esque field. Hierarchy members had gathered: Applauds and their Affinities perched atop pavilions. Ladylike Angels sat in flower patches, bouquets of wildflowers in hand. A green one sighed lovingly, while a red and gold duo tossed some onto a slightly raised platform. Twin Dears danced over the stage happily and allowing feathery confetti to snow down. A Fairness hummed along, its cobalt cousin doing the same. Even a hulking Beloved clapped softly, thoroughly entertained by the soloist. Circling high above was another crowd of onlookers. Musical Enchants fidgeted as the soloist’s vibrato soothed all their hearts. A flock of cooing Decorations flew over to its source._

_One managed to get its cheek lightly stroked by Stylo. Masterful robes billowed quietly, daring not to overshadow the Sage’s voice. Twittering in awe of him, the Decorations dashed upward to join the Dears. All of them bobbed, back and forth, up and down, showering more glittery feathers on him. From his stoop on a memorial stone, the white hedgehog smiled._

_Stylo’s microphone had roaring rusticity. Matted gold hooked in winged shapes. The stand was an aquamarine rod in his hands. No wires impeded its elegance. The richness of Stylo’s voice had melted the Angels’ hearts into caramel. A sunny halo outlined his body._

_“Fill my heart with song,  
_ _And let me sing forever more…  
_ _You are all I long for,  
_ _All I worship and adore…”_

* * *

 

 **Somewhere beyond Lucia** – Around the same time…

 

The Lumen acolyte awoke in a mysterious, and oddly dark, place. It was chilly, as well. He rubbed his head a little. “Ughh…What happened?” Upon noticing the deepening twilight, he blinked weakly. “Where am I?”

            Looking around, the young man saw wrought-iron: Steely bars kept him in. Equally steely chains, with accusatory cuffs, were attached to his wrists and ankles. _"What the—?"_ After a couple good tugs, he realized how real everything had become. A bit panicked, his eyes spotted an alcove. Inside it was a rose window. He blinked; all it featured was a curious crescent moon. Stained mosaic, no doubt. It was very pretty.

            Then, ruffling his upper arms, Stylo was pricked by coldness. His spines shivered, even. “Yeesh, it’s cold in here. Why…? Huh?” His ears swiveled forward.

 _Click, clack—click, clack_ —and closing in.

            Stylo stifled a breath. Muscles tensed by anticipation. Poised for battle, even though both wrists and ankles were bound. Instantly remembering, by the time the clacking stopped, an impulsive “Who’s there? Show yourself!” had flown out of Stylo’s mouth.

            Nothing followed in that awkwardly pregnant pause.

            “My, good morning to you too, ‘Cutie-Sage’.”

            Appearing in front the prison bars were the sources of the clacking: The two Umbra Witches, Menhit and Jyeshta.

            Stylo jumped back, pressing against the wall, and shot a finger at her. “Whoa! It’s you—that cat-Witch-girl!”

            The feline trainee still donned gigantic machinations on her calves and wrists, reddish flames emanating from what looked like portals to another—more fiery—realm. Each appendages was tinged in charcoal, but her tall boots showed a more modern charm. Her suit hadn't changed much; everything was still dreary lavender, silvery chains to each contour, and fluffy white collar and cuffs. Her sharp tuxedo tails looked more like a coat now that she wasn’t darting around. Her tail snaked back and forth, and she seemed rather unreceptive despite the events prior.

            Oddly, Stylo noticed her carrying a briefcase. A stylized full moon—the Witch Clan crest—was engraved on it.

            “Oh my! So you’ve met before, have you?” Sneakily, the older woman stroked the other girl’s waist. “Mm, lucky cat, you!”

            “Don’t read into it, Menhit.” She pinched one of the swallow’s fingers and tossed it back. “He’s still as moronic as ever. Even as he is, now.” She huffed, raising her nose.

            Menhit sighed, but it sounded more endearing than dismissive. “Anyway, good to see you up, love. And on the lookout to boot, I see…” the female swallow giggled.

            Stylo blushed lightly. The lady-swallow looked like a mix of cultures: her outfit resembled both a gypsy and a _kunoichi_. Glamorous beads and metals dangled from different places on her outfit. A gray _yukata_ gave a look of Far-Eastern elegance, printed with waves and bloodied feathers. Seeing those details made Stylo’s mind throw itself back to the Ardor that’d saved him. Across the _obi_ was a string of red jewels. Underneath, only gauze bound her chest. Her pants belled, held in place at the ankles by gauze. Her modern _geta_ gave more personality to her feet—even down to the chrysanthemums. At her left hip was an evil-looking _katana_. Oxblood light pulsed from it; Stylo made an uneasy face. Round, pale-red shades masked her eyes this time around; was she one to change pairs every day?

            Regardless, Stylo refocused, tenser now that the Witches were approaching his cell. “I demand to know where you’ve brought me! Tell me—what is this place, and where it is?”

            “Hush, loser,” Jyeshta snapped. “Ugh, you’ve no manners for a wimp. Pitiful.” Her nose went right back up.

            “I don’t take orders from you!”

            “Oh, but you should, little Sage-Boy…lest you wish to be fed to our ‘contractors’.” Menhit’s rueful chirr snaked up Stylo’s spine; that shut him up quick. “Ah hah, it appears you don’t…so come with us, will you?”

            Spooked orbs replaced his eyes. “W-Where are you taking me _now?!_ ”

            “Quit acting like a pansy and just come on,” Jyeshta snarled, her hold on the briefcase tightening. Her boot heels clacked as she made an about-face and headed back down the hall. Candle flames shivered to each aggravated step. Their light revealed small crescent-shaped engravings, lain in glittery crimson. Now that Stylo was on his feet, he could see the fancy handwork that went into the space. But why such extravagance for a prison ward? Stylo could’ve halfway expected room service and housemaids, with everything he saw.

            The prisoner dusted his robe off while Menhit awaited him to follow. She could sense the suspicion in his eye. Her keen senses acknowledged it. _“Don’t worry, little Sage…”_ the gears in her brains clinked, _“I’m taking you to a nice place.”_

 

Stylo had never seen such horrid-looking flowers in his life. The florid courtyard—Dark Garden—yielded scary-looking purple, red, and yellowish-green flowers all over. Some snapped like dragons while others had flytrap-looking maws. _“_ Demonic _flowers?!”_ Stylo screamed in his mind. In the garden’s midst was Victoria, much to his surprise. To even greater horror he noticed her doll. Jagged teeth chittered—happily?—as it danced around. But Victoria watched the doll move, free of any manipulation. She sat in a ladylike kneel on a golden-yellow pillow. In her hands were a teacup and saucer. Her little nose twitched at the scents of jasmine and herbs. “Dendrobium orchid tea helps nurture eyesight and pacify the nervous system,” she explained matter-of-fact—to no one in particular—before taking a sip.

            She may have said it because she sensed Stylo staring at her. To him, her doll turned its head. Frightened, Stylo crept away. He was a thousand-percent sure a cloth doll’s head was not supposed to turn a full 360-degrees. Seeing that it hadn’t decapitated itself, Stylo let out a high-pitched yelp. It grinned at him. Jagged teeth and all.

            But after Menhit waved him on, she heard Stylo faint and crash to the floor. An irritated vein pulsed at her—and Victoria’s—temples.

 

Everywhere else around him looked just as elegant: Why were these Witches hiding out in a place like this? And why weren’t they attacking him? Everything was suspicious, so Stylo followed while keeping vigilant. Menhit shrugged it off. Why was she acting so obliging? She and her cohorts had made him their prisoner—where was he being led to? There were no paintings, no other decorations aside from wooden furniture and antique fixtures. Every tiny chest had a candelabra on top. With Jyeshta’s passing, they briefly burned brighter. Stylo blinked in astonishment.

            “Here,” Jyeshta suddenly huffed. She’d stopped in front of the last door on their left.

            Menhit rested her glasses back upon her head. “Lovely.” Almost from out of nowhere, she pulled out her grayish-purple pistol.

            “Whoa! Hold on, what’re gonna do with that?!” Stylo had assumed an aggressive stance, as if prepared for battle. Even though his wrists and ankles were still connected by chains. He growled under his breath, ready for anything.

            Contrarily, the swallow only gave him an odd look. She even quirked an eyebrow. “Why, give it back, that’s all,” she shrugged. And gave him a wink.

            Jyeshta opened the door. In the room beyond were twin beds, an armoire pair, and even a couple vanities. A captivating Persian rug was splayed in the floor’s middle. A fairly small room, it seemed to house two. One side was neat and prim: A freshly made bed, clean tabletops, a studier’s bookcase and escritoire. It had its own lamp, like the vanity did. In juxtaposition, the other side’s escritoire was messy with papers. No oil burned, and the bookcase held knickknacks instead of actual books. Was that a toy doll?—It resembled Victoria’s a bit too strongly. But it had bat ears, while the Lolita’s doll had an onion-shaped head. Dust had coated it, too. A window on that side revealed a partially full moon. It was only a day or two away from completeness. Its light also revealed a strange lump in the bed sheets.

            Thoroughly confused enough, Stylo gawked at the simple beauty of the room. But what happened next brought him right out of it.

            “Wake up, dearie!” Menhit beckoned, “Look who I’ve brought…?” Then, in fluid grace, she pitched the firearm at the bed’s lump.

            Stylo panicked a little. “No, don’t throw it—ah?!”

            But with equal grace, a sultry leg threw the sheets aside to catch the gun. With a magical “click!” the weapon locked into place, but the leg kept going. “How many times do I have to say it, Menhit?” came a lightly raspy voice. Another one, much like it, appeared as both legs lapped over the bed’s edge. The woman chirred, “I love my Flighty Freedom set, but not like that! It’s not like any of them can give me a—?”

            An awkward silence followed. The moonlight entered once more, but much brighter this time. Jyeshta gave Stylo a good shove, edging him—forcefully—closer to the unknown woman. Not expecting it, the Lumen acolyte tripped over his own feet before crashing to the floor. However, his fall was broken.

            By a pair of womanly mounds. Very womanly mounds. Stylo’s face was as red as a cherry. He could even feel steam rushing out of his ears.

            “St-…Stylo?”

            Rapid blinks and confusion added bedlam to Stylo’s face. Bringing his face out of the woman’s cleavage would spell disaster. Was she going to scold him? Berate him? Possibly shoot him with those “Deathcaliber” pistols?

            But wait. Before any of that could happen, Stylo wanted to know: How did she know his name?

            Apologetic canaries met teary bluebirds. Smooth snow-white hands glided up the boy’s face. At her touch, he caught a whiff of perfume. It was rosemary. His memories went back to when he and Father Nestor picked flowers for a Sunday feast one morning. With them was a flock of children from Lucia’s orphanage. Girls had shown him how to make flower crowns while the parish priest taught him flower names and their meanings. Rosemary meant “remembrance,” right? It was strange of him to remember that—especially since an Umbra Witch literally had him in her clutches.

            At the same time, it wasn’t to harm or kill. Her oceanic eyes hypnotized him. She was immensely beautiful, curvy in all the right places, but clumsily tangled in her bed sheets. Gloved arms remained, despite her mostly missing attire. Another flush of blood made its way over Stylo’s face.

            “It’s alright now, sweetheart.” The woman’s voice was tender and kind, for some reason.

            “Huh? Really? Why? What do you mean? Was I in danger before?” After a moment, the hedgehog’s suspicions of the Witches had ebbed. They did not harm him this time around. They really didn’t do anything, except keep him locked up, and nothing more. Menhit and Jyeshta stayed back, as if in silent respect to the woman’s wish. The Umbra crest on that briefcase glowed lightly. Thinking back more, Stylo wasn’t sure why he’d been on edge after they’d proven themselves harmless.

            “It’s…just alright now.” That was all the woman said to him.

            It left him blinking more than before. Her gloves were evening-length and red-handed. Three belts anchored them down and made chic with silver crescents. Thigh-high boots remained, for some odd reason; she most certainly wasn’t dressed for bed, was she? Those handguns gleamed. Only the moonlight could reveal their richly indigo undercoat. Her chest was warm and bare. It felt like she was holding on for dear life.

            Menhit half-smirked. “I know it’s been a while, but don’t choke him, now….”

            Stylo directed his confusion at Menhit, who waved off the other woman’s pouting lips. “Umm…? I’m—really—confused, so…I have to ask…” Bashful ambers leered over that voluptuous chest. “Who…are you?”

            Watery blues lowered. Hesitance marked the woman’s pause, before continuing on to hold the hedgehog’s face once more. “Stylo…?” Gently, she pressed her forehead against his. Nervous anticipation made Stylo’s eyes jitter. Her wings were embracing him. Was she going to put him under a spell? Was she planning to curse him? Or imprison him again, but worse? What was this feeling in his chest?

            Somehow, it felt like longing.

            “I am your mother.”

 

 

In a Song that Fills One’s Heart, Amen.


	10. His Will of Fire, Her Tears of Remembrance

**Verse Nine – His Will of Fire, Her Tears of Remembrance**

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 14** , Baker Street to Institute Boulevard – **Late-morning** …

 

Almost two weeks had passed. The city of Spagonia worked itself back into a degree of normalcy. Gradual but tedious, civilians of all ranks were readjusting to the streets again. Middle-class shop owners—like Mr. Josef and the bakery-café waitresses next door—got back to business. The girls’ grandparents were shaken up by the tremor, but the middle-aged neighbor helped them back into their abode by cleaning it and having dinner with them. The young women thanked him for his kindness.

            As the morning went on, security kept an eye out for the returning University students. One girl clutched her boyfriend’s arm at the sight of a guardsman’s assault rifle. Another important cell of individuals kept a safeguard around the university administration and faculty. Like one Prof. Mandrake. The scholarly gentleman’s tiny eyes reflected a recent memory.

_“Ah! Greetings, Father,” an elderly echidna exclaimed, deeply bending to the man thrice his height. “Our little hamlet wasn’t expecting such a prominent figure in her midst! Please, would you like to share a meal with us?”_

_“You’re too kind, Father Nestor.” The taller man’s smile was radiant._

_As they sat down for hearty soup and_ naan _, Fathers Balder and Nestor discussed the possibility of an expansion. “I’d like to construct a transit station here in Lucia. That way, the people will have a way into town without the out-of-town hassles. A train runs right through here, yet there’s no station? How egregious!” Balder huffed. “I must do your mission a just service—by incorporating Lucia into Spagonia’s transcontinental transit services.” A dutiful hand went over his heart. “Lucia is an important part of our brotherhood, too, my good sirs. Please forgive my negligence, dear Father Nestor.”_

_“Ah, all is well, Brother Balder,” the echidna waved him down. “A way into the capital is a much-needed service. What a wonderful announcement! Thank you, and may Heaven continue to bless you, good sir.” He clapped gently._

_“I’d even like to set up a power plant here, Father. With the outer plains and meadows, there’ll surely be enough space to grow a whole field of solar panels. I promise not to interfere with the hamlet itself; perhaps…across that lake there?” Balder pointed at a shimmering lake beyond the window behind Father Pieria._

_Nestor made a slightly nervous face. “Ahh…That area’s been wooded for decades, centuries even. It’s considered a sacred place, Father, and I’d like it not to be tampered with.” Swiftly came an idea: “I know! Have you seen the other side of Lucia, to the east? It’s the in-between of Lucia and Otto, and wide open prairieland abounds—you can set up your solar plants there! Better locale and better business, I say!” He chuckled._

_Professor Mandrake nodded in compliance; his associate, Professor Ulrich, uttered nothing in contrast._

_“Hmm…indeed, Priest Nestor.” A light bitterness brought up his half-smile. “That sounds much better. Now, I must ask you, Father.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin while signaling someone from his higher-ranked personnel to bring something over. It was a briefcase. And, to the big smiles on Father Nestor and Father Sigmund’s faces, Balder showed its contents. “How much are you willing to accept for the prairielands…and stronger partnership with your mission?”_

            An uneasiness had coursed through Prof. Mandrake’s stomach. Were the Lucia parishioners to be wooed into the multimillion-dollar settlement? The hamlet would grow into a small city with that money. Many more people would come through, regardless of residency, for tourism, labor, business, the whole shebang. Both Otto and Lucia’s Missions would become more prominent, closer to their big sister.

            As if trying to impress her with the allowance she herself gave to them.

            “Balder…?” The gray-haired scholar fixed his bowtie. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied a shelf. One framed photo showed a trio of men poised with diplomas and prize medals. On each side of a more youthful Richard Mandrake were a just-as-youthful Gerald Ulrich and Antonio Redgrave. The former looked most peaceful—perhaps since recent years—and the latter showed a cheesy grin. Accomplished in sciences and literature, respectively, the three men looked no older than their mid-50s.

            A sadness marked the man’s downcast smile. To the right of them was a separate photo of a little girl and boy. The brunet boy had a princely face, as did the blonde princess. Off to each corner were the names “Maria” and “Luka”.

            “What is it that you’re looking for? What do you want from us?”

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 10** , Aqueduct St. #4 – **A little after noon** …

 

Arsenio Gutierrez couldn’t stand it anymore: Everything that’d happened since the “earthquake” was making him uneasy. Especially with Stylo missing, waking up in the hospital, and nearly flushing over the encounter he had with that mysterious woman. Now, Arsenio could get back to work. His office overlooked the ocean off Spagonia’s northwestward coast. Further up the hillside was Ippolita’s Coliseum. It had been quarantined due to the instability in that part of the hilltop, geologists suggested. The lower Wards were relatively safe. Wards 1 through 3 had undergone inspections, which later proved them to be unlivable. Much to Arsenio’s dismay.

            Some things had been jolted out of place, but mostly intact. After a bit of sweeping and dusting, Arsenio’s office-flat was back to its old self. The red echidna wiped some sweat from his brow. He let out an accomplished “Whew!” before flopping down on his futon.

            An analog clock ticked for a few minutes. Something about it made Arsenio’s leg bounce. “I need some coffee,” he muttered, getting up.

            A phone number was dialed. Then, a percolator started. Classically modern, Arsenio poured his ground beans into the sieve.

            _Click!_ —“I know who this is…You doin’ alright, Senio?”

            “Yeah, I’m good, Ced.” Carefully, the other hand got some cream and sugar. “Pretty crazy couple of weeks, huh?”

            “Aw yeah, tell me about it! Vesper here even started spoutin’ out nonsense about the earthquake actually resulting from some—big _thing_ —falling outta the sky!” Arsenio stiffened. “Can ya believe it?”

            “Hold up.” His mind went back to the girl he saw spike a landing in front of him. Her curves, and her claws. How did he see her? And where had she gone since? “You mean something fell _on top_ of the building across from Polyglot?”

            “That’s what Vesper’s sayin’…but it’s impossible to believe it. We didn’t see anything fall, and we were right there, too!” Someone in the background seemed to be mumbling softly. “Ah, give it up, sleepyhead! Nobody’s gonna believe that! The police will laugh at us even harder for this…!”

            Arsenio’s memory overpowered the one-sided argument Cedric was having with Vespertine, both colleagues of his. Although, Cedric Santiago and Vespertine Malbec were more like free-agents with local authorities than fellow treasure hunters. Arsenio recalled the mysterious girl. Somehow, after her landing, she’d disappeared again. Into thin air. Without a trace or return. Something big did fall on that building. But what? The building couldn’t have spontaneously collapsed.

            Then, he remembered those faceless voices after he and Stylo had been saved from falling debris. They’d said something along the lines of “They’re here, too”…but in reference to what? Or whom? Stylo had suddenly disappeared; after being seduced by that crazily attractive enigma he’d gotten up to look for him. Only for no sign of him to be found.

            Aside from the bag that was left behind.

            Gears clinked in Arsenio’s brain. “Yo, my man, lemme call you back!” Without too long a pause he disconnected from the call, grabbed his coffee mug, and strode back to his futon. On its foot was Stylo’s messenger bag. “There was something in here…?” He set down his cup, pulled the bag into his lap, remembering the severed strap, and rummaged through it. Inside, there was a wallet and a tiny bible. Blinking a bit, he set them aside. Tenderly, he brought out what was left.

            “Here it is,” Arsenio sighed in amazement. “Antonio Redgrave’s notebook.”

            The bible’s gilded edges shined in the afternoon’s light. Stylo’s ID picture suited him well. His innocent smile made Arsenio blush lightly.

 

 **Temple of Valor** – **Time undefined** …

 

“Man…Those chicks must’ve done a number on him if it’s taking _this_ long.”

            Ethers of gold enveloped the space. Glittery sparkles rained down occasionally. The massive building had a dome of golden glass, as well. Stone looked aged, but bore unearthly regality. Ivies reached up its walls and columns. A detached crown floated not too far off. Endless water cascaded into the pond below. Wildflowers crowded the stonework. The sweeter of the Wind Brothers bent down to sniff one.

            “Just stop and smell the flowers, Bro. It’s not like time can restrain anyone here, anyway. That’s what puts the ‘paradise’ in Paradiso, y’know?”

            Their robes mirrored one another’s. The aggressive twin leaned against an outer wall. A green glyph branded his robe’s lower-back, while a blue one did the same for his brother. Much like the Sentinel each twin bore a chest jewel with peacock feathers inside, yet sported silvery accents and shorter robes, whose hems stopped just behind the knees. They chose to be hoodless, always complaining about their stuffiness and how easy it was to get their spines tangled in it. Compromisingly, they did wear their masks: The cerulean hedgehog wore a mostly cloth mask. Almost like an eye patch, except for the silvery-gold hardware on it. A treble clef in a Decoration’s wing shape swooped from around his right eye on up, ending behind his ear. A crystal-clear lens gave it a more goggle-like appearance. The lime-green hedgehog’s mask did something similar, only with a bass clef ascending from his left eye.

            The friendly twin went back to his brother’s side. Silvery boot soles shifted through the soil. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya…But still.” More weight shifted onto the right boot. “To think an Auditio fell to them so easily…What was the Sentinel thinking?”

            “Well, it was really just one. I hear the Sentinel got distracted.”

            “Besides those Witch-ling sisters?”

            “…Yeah. That kid.”

            Cobalt eyes sharpened. “You mean the Son of Light?”

            The blue-furred twin nodded. Ever so gently.

            “Huh.” His green-haired twin shrugged. “It’s not like him to lose focus. Even with the Ardor protecting him, he still lost a hold on him, eh?” He shook his head. Both he and his brother turned to face the temple entrance.

            In elaborate sequence, the interlocking sigils simulated a locked door. Fiercely gold, they promised no outside interference. Including theirs.

            They made the same worried face.

            _“You think he’s beating himself up in there…?”_

_“There’s no need for him to. It’s probably as you said: Just taking him a while…to restore Fortitudo.”_

            Behind the temple’s barrier was, indeed, the Sentinel. Deep within, torches flared from their ceremonial pans. Loving honey-light wafted around the room. It warmed the air and allowed the Sentinel to concentrate. At the formation’s center, a pool embraced him. Watery softness kept his powers balanced. The Auditio’s massive halo was like a miniature sun hanging over him. Passionate psalms escaped the Sentinel’s lips.

            “…LOLCIS A-CHILDAO…”

            The torchlight emboldened. Mystical red embers crackled.

            “…MATB NAPTA…! ZIR-DMAL…!”

            The Sentinel reached into a pool. More embers popped as the torchlight quickly swirled in whiter hues. Reds and blues flickered around before settling. With great strength, he had pulled out a weapon set. The water evaporated quickly; its steam wisped about. Sweat tickled the hedgehog’s brow. He huffed a bit. As carefully as he could, he retreated from the pool. Robe hems were drenched, but steam billowed slowly but surely. The Lumen Sage fell to his knees. Kind hands caressed the cheek of a familiar visage.

            “IN WHOSE HANDS AM I…?”

            “Fear not, dear friend. You’ve returned…reborn, fashioned after a mighty shield-and-sword.” The Sentinel bowed his head. “Bravest Valiantium…adamantine in armor and strike. May your Strength swell and Courage banish my foes.”

            A quietness entered the space between the Sage and rebirthed Auditio. Golden glimmers replaced the large halo.

            “Be alongside me once more. Please…”

            Soon after, the halo reappeared over the Sentinel’s crown.

            “I SHALL, AS PLEDGED UNDER THE HONOR OF THE HIERARCHY…”

            A grateful kiss went to the shield’s forehead. He couldn’t thank Fortitudo enough. But it was all he could think of. _“Thank you…Hallelujah.”_

            “…JUPITER’S SON OF LIGHT.”

 

 ** _Maison_ d’Arcness** – **Early evening** …

 

The moon’s brilliance had returned to the sky. An iron-faced edifice overlooked the craggy frame of Dark Garden. Indigo clouds fractured the incoming light; rose windows captured what they could. Deep within the tall mansion was a training room. Torchlights kept mishaps at bay. Umbra Clan symbols engraved the walls, ceiling, and floor.

            **Cling—Clang—Cling!**

            Gunfire was deflected with expert parries. Menhit smirked, moving in for a jab. But her sparring partner fluidly dodged it. A slash redirected the demonic sword’s blade. But another fluid dodge followed.

            “Don’t just twirl around, Anahit! Are you gonna come at me or what?”

            “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head-feathers, girly!” The bat woman showed her the twin handguns in her possession. “I’m coming at you, all right…!” She blew her a kiss.

            Away from the mock battle was a new pair of Witches. Both were echidnas, but the taller one seemed to be waiting. The younger-looking one held a look of quietude on her face. Respective shades of coral and peach gave darkly fruitful glows in their outfits. The taller woman’s bolero and jumpsuit were armored by obsidian padding. Her knee-high boots melded into the pant legs. A glowing sigil imprinted her headband. Free-flowing locks were swung to the back, and her grayish-lilacs silently refereed the practice match. Standing next to her, the younger echidna resembled a cross between a shaman and a princess. An armored overskirt glittered with onyx and springtime scales; underneath it blossomed elegant asymmetrical fringes. Soft suede moccasins were oddly heeled, by holed wedges, but she kept her balance just fine. Lily sleeves mimicked her underskirt and were tied by vibrant colored strings. Longer spines almost touched her waist. In her hands was a giant spoon. Atop it was a decorative ring. Emphasis went into its thick crescent-shaped handle. A spiral shell hung in the middle.

            The battlers huffed. Comradely clinks sounded from their weapons—like a kiss between the gun and sword.

            “Good match there, Anahit.” The swallow’s rosy shades denoted a sound defeat.

            “Even if it ended in a draw?” Snarky and smirking, the white bat winked.

            “Even so. But now, I’m sure your boy’s wondering where you are?”

            The lady-echidnas looked to each other. A silent nod was exchanged.

* * *

The _Maison’s_ devilish face was more comical than scary. Terrible fangs bore an aperture in the shape of its hollow. Stone framework held silvery-red glass together. A doubled door swung inward. Stylo exited onto the wide veranda. Grayscale stone gleamed in dull dark-and-light slabs. Nothing stood out from it—except the predominant Umbra crescent motif. He sighed, a bit despondently, as he watched the actual moon move away.

            Then, Stylo pondered: Why now? What was the deal with these Angels? What did they want—or what did the Sentinel want? Angels seemed to fall in love with Stylo the instant they come in contact with him. It was contrary to what the Sentinel’s desires were—if they were ever existent. He warned him of the Umbra Witches. But an interesting development has arisen from it.

            Then again, the Lumen acolyte heaved another despondent sigh.

            “There you are, dearie. I searched high and low…though, apparently, not high enough.”

            Stylo threw his sights over to the arriving Anahit.

            A thickening blush masked his cheeks: Alluringly, white patterns made itself into a cat suit very much like Jyeshta’s. Hers stopped at her cleavage before trailing off towards her back. Hearts stamped her overall look. From a sparkling silver watch amidst her cleavage, rich-pink ripples cascaded down her waistline, and united as hems for rounded coattails. A down-set heart—its underside the same rich fuchsia. A heart-shaped metal ring kept the top and bottom together, as well as an anchor for her watch. White suspenders reached from the front ring to the one midway her back, between her wings. Evening gloves were belted thrice-wise, palms more grayish-pink in the overcasting light, and thigh-high boots had returned to anchor the remaining leggings. Two hazy-indigo guns gleamed as she sauntered toward him.

            “I’m…very confused, still, Ma’am.”

            Out of blue came Stylo’s complaint. It made Anahit blink a little. But an understanding smirk upturned her lips’ corner. “And I’m very sure you are.” A sneaky grin. “But you don’t have to be so formal, y’know”—she grappled him into a playful headlock—“just call me ‘Mummy’ or something.”

            Stylo choked, “Okay! Ack—Y-Yes, M…Mummy!”

            “D’aww~! Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” she squealed, letting go. And letting him drop to the floor. “Ugh—you are just the very _opposite_ of your father!” Suddenly, in “heroine-romantic mode,” she went on: “Your sweet personality is a dramatic contrast to his awful insensitivity—Ahem!—although, occasionally. Such tender innocence! How virginal you are in the aspects of love, whether carnal or otherwise! Tell me, son!” Excited, she bent over him. Blinking wide and curious eyes, “Have you fallen in love yet?”

            Stylo was rubbing his face when she asked. Consequently, it stopped him in his tracks. He found himself sweating profusely, unsure how to respond. “Um…uhh…?”

            “Oh, even if you haven’t”—she threw herself into a love-struck damsel’s pose—“let your heart not be too guarded, for love is quite the adamant mistress! Haah~, I’m still in love with my husband…even after everything…after all this time.” Her sigh was half-dreamy and half-heartsick.

            A light bulb took off from Stylo’s crown. Luminous and inquiring, it was the hedgehog’s turn to blink. “Wait. What do you mean? Is he…dead…or something?”

            Anahit caught on to the disappointment in Stylo’s voice. A tinge of worry sparked in her eyes, before her motherly instinct took him into her arms.

            Blurred moonlight passed through a cloud sheet. The _Maison’s_ eyes carried a momentary sad gleam.

            “Well, that’s the thing. I honestly don’t know. But…something tells me…that he’s fine.” A more hopeful gleam had entered her eyes, instead. Much to Stylo’s confused blinking. “Wherever he is.”

            “Um…Mummy? What was my father like?”

            She couldn’t hold back the smile that teased her sensibilities. “Ah, that father o’ yours, Stylo…?”

 

 **Spagonia’s Ward 21 – Chaotix Detective Agency** – **Earlier** in the evening…

 

_“Golly, where do I start?”_

            “…Look, I’m telling you guys—that kid I met has something to do with this!” Arsenio patted Antonio’s Journal for emphasis. “How do you explain me finding _this_ in his bag?”

            Cedric stroked his chin. Vespertine, on the other hand, beheld the book with a sleepier gaze. Since the Polyglot Café had been quartered off by Spagonian authorities, they had to meet up at their office, which doubled as the detectives’ place of residence. It was near the docks, so maritime air rushed in at every opportunity. A gramophone played a cool sax in the background. A round of drinks were on the house, courtesy of Cedric. An impressively ambidextrous bartender poured different shots with his tail while shaking up an order for a previous customer.

            “Look, Senio,” Cedric waved his hands to gesture calm. “For all we know, that kid coulda stolen that notebook. It’s chockfull of secrets, my man, an’ I’m sure Luka’s pops doesn’t want all that to get leaked. It’s a good thing you got it back. I’m sure he’ll understand, if you tell it to him like you told us…?”

            “Angels and all….”

            Arsenio’s eyes bucked wide; Cedric’s jaw dropped.

            But Vespertine’s head clunked against the table. He snored quietly.

            A server, a green-tailed hawk, flinched a little to the sound’s suddenness. Fortunately, the drink he served had already made it into the customer’s hand. It even drew the customer’s attention.

            The echidna raised an eyebrow. “That would actually explain the building’s collapse. If something heavy did fall on it, and we couldn’t see it…plus, it crashed into Polyglot’s storefront like a bar of exploding TNT…yo, that makes total sense!”

            “Wai—hold on! Are you completely sure about that?” Cedric worked himself into a nervous stutter. “I thought Angels were, ya know, angel-faced and peaceful! Why’d they destroy somethin’ for no reason?”

            “They wouldn’t.”

            The crocodile blinked in confusion.

            “Whatever the reason, it involved getting aggressive. And not all Angels have the same orders; they are different types of Angels for different occasions. That big Angel must’ve been a brawler to leave a dent like _that_.”

            “I get what you’re sayin’, Arsenio…” Cedric was at a loss on where to begin asking questions. “But…how the heck do you know all o’ this?”

            The echidna sighed a little, taking off his hat. “Just…trust me on this. I have a firm belief in Antonio’s work, and so does Luka. More likely than not, unexplainable things are beginning to happen in this city. And I find it really, _really_ strange that it’s happening—?!”

            Suddenly, the girl—ever-shrouded in mystery—came back to his mind’s forefront. The quickest glimpse; Arsenio was a lucky guy. But not as lucky as Luka, he’d always admit.

            “That girl I saw for that split-second…?” A tense sweat drop clung to his temple. He grappled a fist.

            “Maybe she was the brawler-Angel’s target…?”

            Grinning in response to Vespertine’s input, Arsenio jilted the table. “Yeah! That’s it—it’s gotta be!” Hope brightened the echidna’s eyes. He pumped a determined fist. Then, tenderly shoved the notebook back into the bag. _“Finally, something interesting…!”_

            A bowler hat tilted away from the man’s sunglasses. Near the bar’s corner, the man huffed from a cigar. “Sounds juicy…Rodin will re-tan my wallet if I get nothing on this.”

            “You think Rodin will listen to your slipshod fantasy? Get real.” The server came off as surprisingly rude and condescending. “ _I’m_ the real story chaser here. Go back home and drink your woes away if you think I’m gonna let you snatch up this opportunity.”

            Their voices were no higher than a whisper. But a competitive edge sharpened with each counter the round-bellied man had for the green hawk, and vice versa.

            It made Arsenio lift an eyebrow.

            “What the—Vesper?!” Cedric grabbed the chameleon by both his shoulders and shook him. “You’re supposed to be sleepin’, not accurate!” An amusingly aggravated vein pulsed at him temple upon hearing his fellow’s deepening snores. “Y-Yeah, that’s what I thought you said!”

            The echidna drowned out a bit of Cedric’s woes about Vespertine’s obvious narcolepsy and how he “got stuck” with him. In place of his attention, Arsenio’s thoughts went back to the vaguely mysterious hedgehog. Stylo couldn’t have been a thief. Why would such a sweet, innocent, and somewhat beautiful young man steal—from Luka, of all people? Not that Luka owned the notebook himself. He knew of it, since he’d sneak it out of his father’s room sometimes to impress a girl he liked. _“I’m gonna be a journalist just like Father,”_ little Luka would claim happily to the golden-locked girl. Now, that Arsenio thought about it, he didn’t have a girl to impress. That odd instance with that strange woman couldn’t be counted, could it? It was only a physiological response—and it was _her_ fault! Getting a hard-on was way different from getting to know a woman. Better sense told him to forget about it. To refocus on this possible treasure—this invaluable find.

            A find that could unhinge the doors of reality.

            Arsenio Gutierrez snuck out the bar while the big croc was busy interrogating his comatose chameleon partner. After recognizing the futility of it, Cedric decided to piggyback him upstairs. “Gosh darn it, Vesper, ya sleepyhead….”

            Tenderly, now, he held the journal. Its faded cover looked so endearing. The paper clip in the back held a picture of Luka; a handwritten caption said: “My precious angel – Age 6”. Seeing it made him smile. “Heh, that wannabe-playboy would hate it if I showed _this_ to his many, many fateful encounters,” he snickered.

            _“…_ _Maybe we can sit down for coffee next time?”_

            Longing entered the treasure hunter’s heart. Swiftly in step with it was mild confusion. “Wait. That kid…there’s something…ah…what’s the word I want?” He looked back at Antonio’s Notebook. “He said he worked at the Lucia Mission, didn’t he?” He pondered for a moment. “He’s tied into this somehow. And I wanna know how, why…and possibly get a coffee date out of it?” His eyes bucked open again. Wobbly rings gave way to ghostly sclera. His back slumped, arms hung, and legs bowed. “Hold up, _date?!_ Since when did I wanna date him?”

 

 **Paradiso** , Sunlit Hall – Time Undefined…

 

At long last, the Sentinel had retreated from the Temple of Valor. The gold seal disengaged, each sigil losing its brightness in order, and the grand doors opened. The reborn Auditio had been revealed to the Wind Brothers. They both praised him, not only for his return but also how well the makeover suited him.

            Getting right back to business, the Sentinel issued the twins their next assignment: “Wind Heralds, the Son of Light’s presence has been confirmed. I need you two to retrieve him. The Hierarchy of Laguna commands for his protection, which can be guaranteed only in Paradiso’s grand vastness. A strategy has been set: Follow the orders Temperantia has for you, for now. He will guide you to him.”

            “What about you, Sentinel?” the blue hedgehog spoke up. “What’re you gonna do?”

            “Yeah. We’re not doing your dirty work just because you tell us to.” The green hedgehog snorted, “It’s really because Temperantia will cop an attitude if we don’t…!” He stuck out his lower lip. Ignoring the sweat drop at his brother’s jawline.

            “I will assist in Fortitudo’s complete recovery. At most, he is at half his strength right now, and needs to adjust to his new form.” Turning about-face, the Sentinel was about to head out. “I, myself, do not have the strength to restore him. I’ll need to see someone about that. Proceed with the retrieval, as planned. Report back to me once you’ve apprehended him.”

            The Wind Brothers threw themselves into a loyal salute. “Yes, sir!”

            “Israfel, you will be responsible for this mission.”

            Mirrored brows lifted. Sly grins stretched out at the same time. “Which one?” they snickered, almost teasingly competitive.

            A stringy knot rumbled over the Sentinel’s head. “Quite frankly, I do not care.” Before taking off, “Because whichever assumes responsibility will get a tongue-lashing, if this mission fails.” Embers circled his heels before propelling him into the air.

            Ghostly sclera blinked slowly in both boys.

            “Ya think those Witches are strong enough to take down Temperantia?”

            “Nah. It’d bruise his ego if we said they were. So let’s not piss him off beforehand.”

 

 **Paradiso** , Temple of Resplendence…

 

Another exquisite temple rested at the Sentinel’s feet. Beyond the doors were falls of water. They fell into an abyss that seemed to bring them right back through their spouts. Light shined in aurora and flowers welcome the Lumen Sage into their sanctuary. Muted hymns floated about. But upon closer listening, it was coming from the temple’s center.

            Skating in a circle was a pair of ladylike Angels. Rich gold helms adorned their heads, and watering cans were in their hands. Sprinkles went over the wildflowers. They seemed to be humming; they circled ‘round and ‘round in perfect contentment. Their smiles greeted the Sentinel, who’d bowed in reverence. Giggles floated by his ears, a slender hand smoothing over his muzzle. A sweetheart’s kiss was pecked on his cheek.

            “Why did you ask them to water the flowers, if they don’t need it?”

            In the temple’s midst, someone was meditating. They were blindfolded and chained heavily. They were swathed in gold-stitched raiment. Cross-legged, nonetheless, they seemed rather content. “I enjoy…Joy’s company, merely. I find my rituals boring to watch, so tending to the flowers diverts their attention. They have a surprisingly calming aura. Come. Sit with me. Embrace their presence.”

            “I mean no rudeness, Gleaner, but I came to fetch Libra.”

            “Ah, I see.” A quiet smile. “Libra? Go with the Sentinel, if you please?”

            One of the Joys straightened. A gleeful smile preceded a glimmering transformation: from its overtly feminine appearance, “Libra” landed on all fours and galloped eagerly over to the hedgehog. Another transformation allowed it to flitter up to his arms and giggle like an excited child. Cherubic in a Romantic sense, it snuggled against the Sentinel.

            “It sounds like you are needed. Do your best, Libra.”

            A sweet coo came from the burgundy Angel. It was nuzzling a bauble necklace quite lovingly.

 

 

In His Will of Fire and Her Tears of Remembrance, Amen.


	11. Speak of the Angel...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Moderate depictions of violence/destruction, crude humor and innuendo, and heavy swearing ahead. CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

**Verse Ten – Speak of the Angel…**

 

**Back at _Maison_ d’Arcness** …

 

Stylo felt an increasing intensity fill the room. A fireplace warmed it, though not him necessarily. Dark tapestries came in burgundy and claret, but they refused to block the moon’s light. Wood stains glimmered, clean and stately. Plush velvet coated the seating arrangement. It was very different from what the fledgling experienced at Lucia Mission growing up.

            The Umbra Witches had treated their mid-evening meal a little differently.

            Thoroughly relaxed, all of them had assembled in that “dining hall”: A love seat, sofa, chaise longue, and solitary chairs sat around a short table in the middle. A three-armed candelabra kept the table lit. Nothing too extravagant was served. Maybe a star under the finest of restaurants, but boasting more strength-building dishes.

            Apparently, since a young man was in their midst.

            Nervously, Stylo clutched his teacup. Citrusy mint wafted from it. With a hint of herbs and another sweet thing. Sugar would’ve been too sharp; perhaps, honey?

            Going around in the arrangement, Umbra Witch-ling Victoria poured after-dinner tea for everyone. Three separate kettles for separate tastes, it seemed. Menhit lounged in the chaise longue, slurping a bit of her ramen’s broth in gratitude. Divided chairs were taken up by the older Lolita Sisters, Pele and Bellona. Bellona seemed to slop the servings onto Stylo’s plate, as if to condescend how “piggish” boys looked when they ate. Insulted, Stylo proved her wrong by taking in small forkfuls. The echidna Witches sat together in the love seat, while Anahit praised Stylo’s table manners by clapping quietly.

            Now that the meal was over, Stylo felt the already present intensity growing. He didn’t look anyone in the eye. Not even his own mother.

            “So…Bōya.” Menhit’s stern glare put Stylo on edge. “What did you choose?”

            Pale-colored anxiety entered his voice. “C-Choose? I had to make a choice?”

            “Well, we can’t have a baby Lumen trying to learn Umbran Arts, now can we?” She huffed at his stiffening back. “Don’t tell me Anahit didn’t tell you…! She’s always known you would side with Paradiso and its agents of goodness. But now that your heritage has been brought to light…are you planning on staying in it?”

            A heavier glower gave Stylo’s heart a jolt.

            No one spoke for a moment. Not even Stylo’s own mother.

            “If not…we might have to kill you, here and now.”

            The boy’s irises flinched in and out of dilation. “Wait—What?!”

            “Whose side do you want to be on, Bōya? The Sentinel did warn you, after all…but for a different reason.” She took out a silver _kiseru_ pipe from her breast pocket. “One, I’m sure, that you didn’t pick up on.”

_Flick, flick._ Stylo gawked in turmoil as she burned the tobacco in her pipe’s mouth. Anahit couldn’t contest it: The disrupted order of things made it so that the Lumen Sages were adversaries to the Umbra Witches. Somewhere in the furthest cabinets of the hedgehog’s memories, he remembered Father Nestor illustrating the story from a battered journal he’d said he kept near-and-dear to his heart. Truths that no one bothered to believe. Somehow, Stylo remembered being upset about it. His younger self had huffed about the unfair prejudice people held against the diary’s author, even though the boy had never seen the man in his life. Huffing and puffing about it made his head steam; it was so bizarre for such a young boy to have such a fit of pique about it. Father Nestor made some warm oatmeal and cocoa for him, invoking a sense of reward for such concern.

            The Sages and Witches weren’t supposed to be enemies, Nestor had told him. A balance had been disrupted. Something was wrong with the current way things were. But Stylo didn’t hear an explanation of why.

            He couldn’t recall if he ever had. Because all the Umbra Witches were glaring—deathly—at him. All, except two. Without a heart to do so, Anahit smoothed her fingers over her forehead.

            “You’re not the only Sage left, fool.”

            Stylo gasped. A fiery gleam had suddenly appeared to singe his high collar’s brim. Quick and decisive, the claw blade didn’t need to go any further to make him squeal. Nervous perspiration bolted from his jawline. He dared not gulp.

            A wrathful spark had entered the cat-Witch’s eyes. “But you’re one of the more treasured ones. If no one knew it before, they know now. Especially those insufferable Israfel Twins.”

            The slightest leer from Stylo had somehow—and illogically—brought down the mansion’s inner walls. Glass flew everywhere. Stonework, ruined. The fireplace went out like the candelabra. But Jyeshta didn’t seem the least bit surprise. In fact, she stood there with Stylo, at blade-point, as if expecting the intrusion.

            Menhit smirked. Even though an enormous fist was flying towards her back.

 

**Back in Spagonia** – **Elsewhere in Ward 21** , a dark alley…

 

“Hey! Get back here, you bastard!”

            Broken boards flew at Arsenio’s face. Knocked trash cans tried to impede his speed. But the ever-athletic echidna punched through and leapt over them. Darting around corners, he chased after a fairly quick assailant. Who doubled as a thief, as Arsenio managed to cry out.

            “I said get back here!”

            But the moment he shouted, a flock of armed guards ran up alongside him. On the defensive for a split-second, one guard verified, “We see him! Keep back, civilian, we’ll handle him!”

            A bit irked, he rebutted with, “Hey, I’m not just some civilian! The name’s Arsenio Gutierrez, expert treasure hunter and combat extraordinaire! He’s got something dear to me, so help me cut ‘im off!”

            The guard captain sounded irritated himself, taking orders from a civilian, no matter what titles were given. There was a pause; then, a defeated “Copy that! This way!”

            A split down the squadron’s middle made perfect cells. The first continued on while the second rounded into an ascending alleyway. Ammunition was switched from live to tranquilizer; Arsenio had no choice but to be careful.

            “Continue north-northwest. Look alive, we’ve got a slippery one!” The captain led the operation. But how did they know Arsenio needed help? Much more, in the exact same place where the robbery occurred?

            The echidna set it aside, noticing the officers straying further and further from the direction the thief ran in. Snarling bitterly, he snapped, “Where the hell are you guys going? I told you to help me cut him off, not escape!”

            “Just keep up, rookie. You’re not in charge here!”

            “No way…you guys are doing a pretty sucky job for cops! _I’ll_ handle this!”

            Arsenio snatched a grappling hook from within his waistcoat’s inner pocket. Compact and easy on an old man’s arthritis, the tiny metal claw grabbed hold and brought Arsenio off the ground.

            “Hey, you! Come back!”

            Strong traction brought Arsenio into a full-on sprint along the wall. Dutiful cable pulled him higher toward the roof, and bounded atop a building in a single leap. Catching himself wasn’t too easy, since he was someone who’d never taken well to midair motion. Catching his breath, he brought the hook out of its latch and called it back. Tucking it into his jacket, he took a quick look around.

            And lo and behold: The bartender from before kept a taut hold on it. He was the perp.

            “…The hell? Why, you…Friggin’ weasel!” the treasure hunter snarled. “Gimme back that notebook! Do you have any idea how fragile that thing is?!”

            “However old it is, it’s gonna rake in some cash, isn’t it? That is, if it sells…!” the weasel snickered.

            “Dammit, Fang! C’mon over here, so I can sock it to you!” He cracked his knuckles.

            “You’re inviting me to a dogpile? Not really interested, but you can give it a try.” That dexterous tail sashayed at Arsenio. Almost like a beckoning finger.

            A huge sweat drop hung from the back of the echidna’s head. “Aw. You gonna go _that_ way, huh?”

            He waved the journal at him. The weasel let out a sly chuckle. “C’mon, then, Strongman. Come and get me…!”

            “Up there! There he is!”

            Nonchalantly, the thief took a look over his shoulder and spotted more Spagonian guards taking aim at him. Gun clicks sounded after a military truck parked behind them. Fang clicked his tongue against an over-biting canine.

            “Heh, onto me already? Wow,” the weasel teased. “Check it out, Strongman! I’ve got a whole line of suitors over here! If I get tranquilized, they can do naughty things to me while I’m sleeping…?” His broad tail swaggered at them. Again, but more like a seductive finger. A mischievous moan peeved the officers below.

            “Give that back to me, Fang! I wouldn’t screw you if you were the last person on Earth!”

            Gunshots rang out. But Fang expected the move and dodged accordingly. He flicked a tongue at their curses. But, suddenly, realized that Arsenio had made his way over to him. Vaulting from a rooftop, Fang registered the echidna’s shrinking proximity and moved away. Seeing the other man’s fist miss his face, Fang snickered. He hooked his tail, tripping Arsenio, but wasn’t expecting him to return in kind. “You’re coming down with me!” Flattening on his hands and knees, Arsenio swung his foot outward, like a roundhouse, and brought the weasel to the ground.

            Antonio’s Notebook skirted away.

            “Bastard! Stay away from it!”

            “Hmph! Make me—by making _love_ to me!”

            “What the hell?!”

            An elbow strike was fluidly blocked. It commenced Arsenio and Fang coming to blows. Acrobatic maneuvers outsmarted straightforward affronts. Arsenio was already boiling from the crime; now, the racy thief was challenging him for unfounded ownership over the book. Enough anger kept his wit and strength going, but the ermine bartender was fast. “Hold still!” and “Quit dodging!” were thrown out intermittently by the treasure hunter.

            But Fang teased him the whole while. “Ooh, I’ll hold still if you can pin me to the floor!”

            “I’m not even feeling _remotely_ sexual right now, horny fucker!”

            “Ooh, spicy!”

            “I said hold still!”

            “And I said only if you can pin me down first!”

            “Oh, I’mma pin you down alright…!”

            Down below, the Spagonian officers’ captain made his way over to the military vehicle. He knocked on the window. At its descent, he inquired about any further orders. He received a negative return and was asked to stand down. Also, he was congratulated for his and his squadron’s efforts and promised immediate compensation for their quick response. The captain saluted, and ordered a quiet retreat.

            The tussle didn’t allow Arsenio or Fang to register the strategy. But Arsenio finally managed to catch the thief. He kept his promise of pinning him to the ground: Hands cinched within his own, Arsenio nailed Fang’s face to it with a strong arm. His straddle kept the weasel from thrashing about. Though, it didn’t seem he had any desire to.

            “Gotcha…Weasel.”

            The ermine thief giggled, as if to insult his play-on-words. “As if it weren’t obvious enough.” He fidgeted a bit. “But…I can only assume that you like being on top, then?” After a lip lick, his tail slid up along Arsenio’s waist. To creep up his shirt.

            “Hey! None of that! Ain’t nobody playin’ witchu!” The echidna slammed his forearm into Fang’s back, readjusting his position on his back, so his boot sole could stomp down on the broad tail. A pained yelp escaped from the perpetrator. “Know this: If you so much as look at me the wrong way again, your ass won’t be mine, ‘cause I don’t fuck dead men.”

            “Ooh, so much spice!” Fang moaned, clearly—and oddly—turned on. “You don’t have to kill me yet…Fuck me first, at least!”

            “You sick, man.” Arsenio shook his head. “Just keep your mitts off that—notebook…over…?”

            But it was gone. Again.

            “No! Not again! Who the—?” Arsenio dashed up to look for the possible accomplice. He snarled, spotting no one.

            “Oh no,” Fang crooned a bit lazily. Picking under his nails, his staccato gave a vibe of disinterest: “I won-der who else would want such a precious keep-sake…besides, y’know, us?”

            “Well, shit, I wonder, too.”

            Arsenio couldn’t lock eyes with this new culprit. Somehow, they’d crept up the building (or entered from the roof access) without either of their knowledge. But the access’s door was shut; they would’ve heard the door, at least, right? Arsenio felt like beating Fang to a pulp still, but he had an uneasy feeling that the two-timer would enjoy it in _some_ way. An ex-fellow-in-arms, Fang was nicknamed “The Sniper” for his hawkeyed accuracy with firearms. Somehow, he wasn’t armed this time. He had been working in the Chaotix Detective Agency’s bar, though; absolutely no firearms allowed there.

            “Senio~?” the other man whimpered. He was rolling around on the roof. “C’mon, this boner won’t go away! Help me!”

            “Your problem, not mine.” He’d pulled out a pair of binoculars to scan the area. He flicked the lens from normal to thermal. “If that perp knows what good for him, he’ll bring his ass back here…!”

            “So _he_ can screw me instead?” His dexterous tail flicked back and forth, like an impatient child waiting to eat dinner just for after-dinner candy.

            An aggravated vein bulged at the echidna’s temple. “Why haven’t you run away yet, dumbass?!”

            “Well, I don’t wanna leave you like this…while _I’m_ like _this._ ” Between cowboy chaps, Fang massaged his crotch. Provoking Arsenio’s vein even more. Though, he was rooting for a southern vein, not a northern one.

            “I never asked for any of this! Now, shut up so I can find this dude…?”

            The hunter’s silent prayers had finally been answered, but in a way he was least expecting. A military truck had stopped in front of a more luxurious car. Guardsmen opened the side door and let someone out. Their Spagonian garbs brought them into the man’s echelon with ease.

            Surely, those men dedicated their livelihoods to Father Balder.

            “Isn’t that…?!”

            There, in a careful fold, was Antonio’s Notebook being cradled like an infant.

            “How the hell did he—? Hey! That’s not yours!”

            Arsenio leapt over the top, shooting his grappling claw at an overhanging lamp, and swung down. Fang watched the echidna take off without even a farewell. Or a sense of objectivity. “Well, it’s not yours either.” The weasel only sat up and observed what came next for his ex-partner. Light memories flood back, for some reason. A dreaminess gave his eyes a nostalgic highlight. _“I thought I was worth more than all the gold we found together…Where did I go wrong? When did everything we went through…turn to shit?”_

 

**Back at _Maison_ d’Arcness** …

 

The mansion had been obliterated. Grayscale stone and silvery-red glass burst everywhere. The Umbra Witches were escaping the destruction when Menhit and Jyeshta noticed Stylo wasn’t among them. Jyeshta clicked her tongue in annoyance.

            A flash of white went by Menhit’s shades. Her eyes caught it within that temporary time-slow.

            “Help me, Menhit. The Twins have him.”

            Menhit nodded. “Understood. Let’s go.”

            After a leap off debris, and a magical flash of darkness, Menhit’s feathers blossomed from her arms and left a ghostly V-shape on her chest. A gust was left in her and Anahit’s wake as they flew after the twin Sages.

 

**Back in Spagonia** – **Wards 20 & 21’s cusp**, near the bridge…

 

Arsenio tracked down Balder. For a man his height, he moved deceptively fast. A rich man’s car awaited him. Cars were too heavy for the inlet’s walkway, weren’t they? Regardless, the old masonry seemed to be holding up just fine. The hunter pocketed his grappling hook before dashing down the stairs. Nighttime had settled and alerted the streetlamps to start their work. Drowsy flickers, then Arsenio could see.

            Majestic robes. That gold quarter-mask. Even that ungodly peacock.

            “I thought I heard a fly buzzing. Good evening, Mr. Gutierrez.”

            Arsenio wasn’t sure how Father Balder knew his name, but he plotted how he would go about retrieving the Notebook. Leering at the human, his eyes narrowed. “Cut the formalities, Balder. You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

            “Ah, indeed. You lost something…precious to you.” He patted the book cover. Its worn face took comfort in the gentleness. “But…it seems I do not have what you seek. You may have to ‘broaden’ your horizons, my good sir.” He turned his back on the echidna.

            “What? Bullshit! You have it right there—in your hands!”—A point went to Balder’s back, unfortunately.—“Don’t play games with me!”

            “Oh, this?” Balder strung Arsenio along. “You must be mistaken. This belongs to a dear friend of mine…one who’s been gone for 20 years.”

            “No way you’re friends with a legend. Now, hand it over. I’m taking it back to Luka.”

            “Are you, now? Hmm…” From behind his shoulder, someone approached to take hold of the Notebook. They’d suddenly appeared from a golden portal. Just-as-careful hands took the keepsake into a tender embrace. They kept their head bowed the whole time. Before Arsenio could rebut, Balder stepped over. Feeling conversational, he smiled. “If you’d be a dear, tell me—how is he doing? I haven’t seen him since he was a spry little thing!”

            Arsenio’s violets sharpened “…Like I’d tell you, traitor.”

            His smile didn’t go away; it didn’t even flinch. “What a disgraceful moniker I seem to have acquired. If there’s someone who could best me, then, by all means, let them.”

            “You really think you’re gonna get away with this scheme without bloodying your hands, huh? City growth? What’re you growing—another Isabel Building?”

            “My, aren’t you the well-learnèd…peeping tom.”

            A grossed-out flush took over Arsenio’s face. “The hell?! No way!”

            “Oh, but you are, my good sir.” Suddenly, at a gentleman’s kneel, he took hold of the echidna’s jaw. “You know so much…perhaps, _too_ much.”

            “H-Hey…?”

            “Just like an unveiled woman, in her comely virginity and guarded ignorance. You know too much. And, for that, I can say you’ve taken after Luka well. I can also say…it’s time to erase my presence here….”

            Hypnotized by the human’s oceanic eyes, Arsenio struggled to get away. His hands couldn’t work, his arms had turned to lead. He’d fallen to his own kneel. Equilibrium had been thrown out of whack. How was the ground moving? Was he falling? Or wasn’t he? He was hearing something. Like a baby’s babble. Why would a baby be here, of all places?

            “As well as part of your memory.”

            Arsenio growled in return. Angel feathers—like he’d never seen—rained down on him. Glittering sparkles didn’t stay one color. The other person had come up behind Balder. In their arms…was that baby?

            But where did the car go?

            “Have a good night, Mr. Gutierrez. Sweet dreams…Hm-hmph.”

            Eyelids weighed a ton. Arsenio couldn’t keep himself alert anymore. One last bare of his eyeteeth couldn’t be taken seriously. Fatherly arms caught his upper body. In that almost sympathetic embrace, Arsenio lost all consciousness and slept in Balder’s arms. Balder looked down at him. His smile widened grimly.

            “Thank you, Sentinel, Libra. You were both wonderful. Now, let us make our way back to Lucia.”

            The Sentinel’s confusion remained masked. “What is in Lucia, Father?”

            Balder laid Arsenio on the ground. “The remainder of the mysteries surrounding this Son of Light.” Getting back on his feet, he turned to face the Sentinel. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

            Little Libra, now a babbling Cherub, looked from Balder to the Sentinel. Hesitation? But the word hadn’t been entered into Libra’s vocabulary, yet. Baby coos sounded worried, though. It patted the hedgehog’s chest lightly. The jewel there was empty, but still a glimmering ruby.

            “Forgive me, Father, but I have business elsewhere, as well,” the hedgehog apologized from his bow. “Please excuse me.”

            At an about-face turn, Libra began to cry out loudly. It flailed its arms over the Sentinel’s shoulder and bounced in his hold. He had to stop and see what was wrong. “Libra?” But it kept crying and wriggling. That ovine mask followed where those tiny arms were reaching, stepping carefully in that direction.

            “Ah, he’s worried about the treasure hunter.” In a soft fatherly voice, Balder eased Libra’s tension. “Worry not, Libra. The young man is fine; sleep is all that’s afflicted him. We should let him be. Go on with the Sentinel. Don’t cry, little one.”

            Broad, round eyes blinked. Relieved hiccups escaped while copious tears were wiped away by the Sage’s thumb. “Bah-bah…! Mwah…Mah!” He grabbed at the thumb and held it tightly. He tugged it until it went into his mouth. The Sentinel watched the little Cherub teethe on his thumb for a moment. Tiny wings flittered excitedly.

            “Such a precious Angel, isn’t he…Sentinel?”

            Nothing was returned. The Sentinel made no signs of rebuttal as a golden pool opened up behind him. A careful sideward saunter brought the Sage and Angel into its midst, through its ring, and out the other side. Father Balder spotted the Sentinel cradling Libra, who yipped happily about being home again. An askance glare espied Antonio’s Notebook; then Balder’s growing smile.

            That Human’s smile was haunting. The hedgehog’s eyes carried a somewhat guilty weight in them, now.

            Higher up on the stairway, Fang the Sniper clung to the shadows. From within, he was able to see the Lumen slink toward the walkway’s balustrade. Frowning, he couldn’t tell what the older man was doing. And, before he knew it, a flash of light zoomed by.

            And Balder was gone.

 

 

In Speak of the Angel, Amen.


	12. In Foregoing Pleasures

**Verse Eleven – In Foregoing Pleasures**

 

“Whoa! Would you look at that? Those Umbra gals are pretty fast—they’ve already caught up with us!”

            “Less commenting, more escaping, bro!”

            “Ha ha! Read ya loud an’ clear!”

            Bluish streams went ahead of greenish ones. Diverting paths, the blue twin took off ahead, generating an evasive white smoke. His brother, meanwhile, carried Stylo off to a different destination.

            Menhit chuckled. “A diversionary tactic, eh?” She looked over to see Anahit. “Well, Mummy-dearest?”

            But a serious glower had overtaken her features. Something she knew Menhit would notice right away. “Go after the blue one. The green one’s mine.”

            “Understood.”

            —“NOT SO FAST.”

            Plunging through the smoke was a large slab from the Mansion’s upper terrace. The Umbran Crest, torn in half and crumbling, soared towards the bat and swallow. Menhit clicked her tongue against her teeth, unsheathing her _katana_.

            But Witch Time had already been activated. She saw Anahit disintegrating into smaller white bats and swarming after the green Lumen Sage. A throaty chuckle escaped before Menhit vaulted up and over the slab. Then, she dove in to interrupt the blue Sage’s escape.

            “Huh…Time to speed this up!”

            Another white cloud was left in his wake, leaving Menhit to slice through it. Off in the distance, Anahit noticed that with each hunk of rubble thrown, Menhit dodged. Yet, the white smoke seemed to string each one along. It appeared to be the blue Lumen Sage’s quick footwork keeping the train going. It followed him, as if he were forming a road.

            Before she knew it, a hemisphere of stone could be seen.

            “I see what they’re doing…” Anahit smirked. “Well, then! If you’re gonna make me work for it…!” Suddenly, an immense expenditure of magic was given off. Magenta bands of sparkling light coursed around her silhouette. From steel-toed tips to her wintry bob, Anahit’s power magnified. Her natural wings stretched, while another pair sprouted underneath. A wicked gleam flashed in her eyes, and along her quartet barrels. “Then let’s get to work!”

            Zooming away, the green Wind Brother tightened his hold on Stylo. “Hang on, kiddo! This ride’s gonna get wild— _real_ soon!”

            “Huh? What the—Ahh!” the boy screamed.

            Both Sages, despite the bettering distance between them, were able to reveal a sliver of power to the Witches and Stylo. Much like the Sentinel’s intonation at Ippolita’s Coliseum, the twin brothers summoned large mandalas. They eclipsed, showing off an impressive silvery-gold. Respective Lumen crests glimmered in blue and green. Pristine capes fluttered, almost at a float, behind their backs. The blue hedgehog’s treble clef flashed, just as the green hedgehog’s bass clef flickered.

            They smirked, intoning together: “Storming Seal: Laguna Wielding.” Brotherly timing brought the boys’ hands up to their chests—to a sapphire and an emerald. Just as nimbly as the Sentinel were pale-gold peacock feathers retrieved, and sent into the air. They were captured by the eye of an encroaching storm. They stilled. “Now!” The Brothers’ cry heralded a blinding flash. In it, the wind intensified. Lightning coursed. And Stylo was at a loss for words.

            “Come on out—!” The green hedgehog cried, grappling a fist.

            His brother also pumped his fist at the dimming light. He finished, “Help us, o Manipulator of Wind—Temperantia!”

            Suddenly, a gargantuan entity entered the battlefield: Bastion-like pauldrons were connected to a massive fortress for a body. Two oranges orbs seemed to hold the arms to it. Mechanical tentacles snaked from underneath the wrist-guards. Stylo would’ve considered the heavenly armor headless, if he hadn’t spotted the face in its chest. A mighty aura, akin to Fortitudo’s, had silenced him. Only his eyes worked—and they were taking in every detail. Every plate. And every word.

            “AS PLEDGED UNDER THE HONOR OF THE HIERARCHY, I SHALL.”

            The concentric tracks were complete, and revolving around at a very high speed. The blue twin followed one track, and the green one followed the other. At the path’s momentary crisscross, the twins let out a dutiful battle cry: “Hallelujah!”

 

** Temperantia **

_Manipulator of Wind_

 

           “BIAB YLSI…!” the mighty Auditio roared.

           Menhit smirked. As did Anahit.

           But Stylo was in pure awe. “The Auditio of Temperance, the Manipulator of Wind…!”

           “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

           When Stylo looked up to his captor, he noticed his fur and eye colors had inversed. A hopeful emerald now winked at him. It made a tiny blush vivify the young man’s cheeks.

           “Alright, bro! Time to turn it up,” he seemed to shout into the blustering winds.

           The green hedgehog summoned a large portal from his palm. Crashing out of it was an electric guitar—strung with silvery-gold cords and cased in incredible black ivory. “Hell yeah, let’s rock!”

           A powerful strum rumbled the storm. Incidentally, it caused the broken paths to shift. The inner path pulled itself out of the vortex and rearranged its pieces in front of Temperantia’s looming figure. Two platforms appeared, each one holding up a Witch. Anahit caught herself on it, while Menhit scrapped against her footholds. They both managed to secure balance. Anahit gritted her teeth together.

           Menhit looked over her shoulder and smirked. “Hey there, Bugle Boy.”

           In the midst of the platform’s transformation, the green hedgehog had taken on one of his own: His regal robes were suddenly in shreds. Trousers had toughened up into black jeans, fingerless gloves resembled a biker’s, and his boots sharpened at the knees and toes. His tattered robes billowed wildly, still white but with a roguish flare. An even wilder bass clef sharpened across his eye patch; it matched the one on his guitar.

           Anahit winked. “I like that look. It suits you _much_ better.”

           “Can it, Witch. I may not follow the straight-‘n’-narrow like my goody-two-steppin’ brother over there, but we’re always in sync…So watch out!” At the snap of his fingers, a guitar pick appeared. It even had a tiny Lumen symbol on it. “‘Cause we’re about to go wild!”

           Anahit parried a rocket-powered lunge from the Wind Brother. His boot heel clashed against her pistols’ cross; the powerful kick launched them across to the other platform. Menhit leapt in to get him off Anahit, but he blocked her sword swipe with his guitar’s back. Space opened up between them. A momentary pause filled it with tempestuous winds.

           “Keh! Two against one? Not very fair odds….” The green hedgehog wiped under his nose.

           “You’re one to talk.” Menhit aimed her blade at him. At his eyebrow’s nonchalant quirk. “Nearly face extinction at the hands of the Laguna. Then, we’ll talk.”

           “Oh, I forgot—you gals are still rattled about that…? Well, I guess I can shut my yap about it.” He showed her a zipping motion over his mouth. “Not another word…right, Mummy?”

           “You know about that?!” Menhit chirred.

           “Of course we know about it…That kid’s _supposed_ to be one of us, according to the Gleaner. We don’t know all the ins and outs, but…he’s letting us act naïve about it. Not that we really are or anything…!”

           “AG-NIDALI!” Temperantia snapped. “HEED YOUR ENEMIES’ POISE, ISRAFEL! DO NOT LET DOWN YOUR GUARD, FOOL!”

           “Hush up, man,” the green hedgehog waved off the Auditio, “I know what I’m doing.”

           A pulse of shock went through Stylo’s heart. Every hair on his body stood up. “Whoa, hey! You don’t talk to an Angel like that—much less an Auditio! What the heck’s wrong with you?!”

           But the green hedgehog, the rebel Israfel, just picked his ear. “Dammit, the acolyte rants even more than Temperantia does…! Well, shit.”

           A huge sweat drop clung to the blue hedgehog’s temple.

           Menhit and Anahit locked eyes. An invisible dialogue dashed between the two women: Menhit winked. “Go get your boy. I got this.” Anahit nodded. And off she went.

           “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Doll-Face!” Israfel’s tattered tails fluttered in front of her. “What’s the rush? Don’t you wanna play with me some more?” His boot flew towards her face.

           But Witch Time slowed it down drastically. “If you insist…!”

           Her counter locked the bat and hedgehog in a flurry of blows. Her own boot made an attempt on the Lumen’s face, but lightning reflexes made her miss. His own Light Speed negated her Witch Time, creating equal opportunities to dodge his axe swings or catch her bullets.

           Meanwhile, Menhit dodged the thunderous fist zooming towards her. Harpy wings allowed her to catch the drift within a miniature jet stream. It took her higher and dissipated near the Auditio’s right shoulder. About to make for the glowing orb there, a mess of golden missiles spiraled towards her. She dodged each one, landed on its arm, and made a dash for its “hand.” A pair of Umbran spell circles seemed to form a radio headset.

 _Kssht!_ —“I have a visual. All I have to do is knock each one out of commission, right, Cassandra?”

* * *

 

High above, Pele’s half-completed battle cruiser sailed under the storm. As the little raccoon steered, the rest of her kin were safely aboard. She’d summoned the ship at the last and raced around, catching every one of her clan sisters. Jyeshta snarled, eager to get in on the action. Bellona and Victoria monitored the battle from below. As did the echidna Witch pair.

A matching headset had appeared at Menhit’s beckon. From there, the shamanic princess relayed back accordingly. “Yes. His anatomy hasn’t changed at all since the Clan Wars. He should be defeated by the same method from before.” Her skirts flinched in the occasional stray updrafts.

 

* * *

“Heh! Understood. By the way…?” Her blade flashed after she scuttled to a halt. A perimeter of lightning spears had been activated. They spun, like drills, and aimed themselves at her. “Can I get you and the others to help me out a little? On my signal, though, alright?” A semi-offensive stance brought up Menhit’s demonic blade.

 _Kssht!_ —“I understand.”

Back on the battlefield, Anahit and Israfel were relentless. Another axe swing, but another time-staggering dodge. Another stream of bullets, but then more quick guards. Neither the Sage nor the Witch’s blows were connecting.

Jagged soles scraped across the platform. Blue bolts seethed. “She ain’t got a scratch on her…Shit.” A blaring strum across guitar strings, and its bass clef radiated with light. “Hey! Tag me, bro!”

“You got it!”

He tapped the bass clef on his eye patch: An instantaneous switch brought the blue hedgehog to the battlefield and put the green one on the arena’s outskirts. The guitar’s flashing clef transformed into a treble after making it into the playful Sage’s hands. Continuing along the road—without missing a beat—it was his rebellious twin keeping Stylo from falling, now.

But the Lumen acolyte didn’t seem the least bit pleased. “You jerk! Don’t you mouth off at an Auditio! He could’ve struck you with lightning, if he wanted to!”

“Ah, shut it!” Suddenly, bits of damaged cloth—from his robes—were balled into the boy’s mouth, and bound his arms and legs together. Startled, Stylo flailed in his grasp. “Now, be a good hostage and hold your tongue,” he snapped, an irritated vein throbbing at his temple. “Feh, noisy snot.”

Mid-clash, his twin brother rebutted with, “You’re not much quieter, y’know.”

“Shut up! Screw you!”

“No. And please, don’t.” A back bend brought him out of harm’s way. “ _That_ would be twincest.”

“Fuck you—I know that!”

“Okay, then. Like I said. Please, don’t.”

“Mrgrgraaah! Friggin’—?!”

“Whoopsie!” The blue hedgehog dodged a golden torpedo by a literal hair. The only one that was snagged. It drilled right through the arena floor. Right in-between him and Anahit. He threw his sights back at the storm’s eye. “Temperantia?”

“CHRISTEOS VONPHO!” The Auditio had cried out in pain. It was Menhit and the newly arrived Jyeshta, dismantling him bit by enormous bit. He belted another indiscernible roar, which intensified the already wrathful heavens. Incinerating voltage encompassed the Angel’s fist. It flew towards both Anahit and the blue Israfel twin.

Both dodged. She held onto the littlest bit of ground she could, while he saved himself by summoning wind from his anklets. A worried glower overtook his face. “Uh oh. He’s pissed, now.” An eyebrow twitched, before jettisoning himself to intersect his brother. “So much for ‘foregoing pleasures’…more like, resisting anger.”

The Auditio roared in defiance; Stylo had no choice but to relive being a witness to another Auditio’s imminent demise. His eyelids cradled his tears. _“No…not again! I…I’m useless again!”_ His tears flushed from his eyes.

“Yo, bro! Witch—incoming!”

The rebel Sage clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Hang on, kiddo!”

He tossed Stylo into the air, snapped his fingers, and spat out, “Get him outta here! We’re counting on you, Fearless!”

Then, on command, a cobalt-blue cousin to Fairness dashed out of the light pool. Its dutiful warble branded trust into Israfel’s psyche.

 

**Fearless**

_Second Sphere Dominions_

 

Stylo’s binds were destroyed by the powerful static given off by the canine Angel. So he could safely land on its back. Instinctively, the boy latched his arms around its neck. A caring growl went to the acolyte. “Oh, thank you so much, Fearless. You saved me…!” A sweet kiss went to the Angel’s pate. From which bubbly hearts popped.

But additional weight had dropped down on its back. Stylo clung there, saving himself from losing balance. “What in the—Agh!”

“Hi, sweetie!” Anahit waved daintily and cutely, like the young mother she was.

“Mum, what’re you doing? The Fearless is gonna attack you—?!”

 _Psh!_ — _“Bellona, now!”_

_“Roger!”_

Suddenly, from outside the tornado, a flurry of kitchenware—enchanted by a pink aura—flew in to strike the Fearless carrying Anahit and Stylo. A set of silver, rose-stamped forks and knives buffeted the creature. It howled in pain.

“No! Stop! Mummy?!”

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Anahit pulled the boy into her arms. It was her turn to carry him off. Hopefully, without it turning into too much of a hassle. An acrobatic flip, and her right heel pecked against the Fearless’s crown softly. “Mummy?” she heard Stylo quibble to her. “Sorry, hon. This is just how we operate.”

A single bullet shattered the Angel’s crown and skull. The recoil made the pistol’s gray padlock-and-key charm flinch. It also propelled them into the air. Time slowed, snagging Anahit and Stylo as her back arched. Her eyes went over to see the source, and saw someone’s face.

A gold glint. But her attention was snatched by Stylo’s scream. “Sweetheart!”

“Mummy! Help!” The white hedgehog was tangled in the tornado’s mighty winds. Soon enough, he was able to exit them somehow.

“Alright, let’s end this!” Both Menhit and Jyeshta conjured a familiar power, and it worked itself into revealing their curves—disrobing the swallow of her ensemble and the cat of her bodysuit. The feline suit became a slimming one-piece, carving off most of her arms, waist, and legs. The white X crossed Menhit’s heart and back while a V veiled the barest parts of her pelvic area. They chanted together: **“AFFA IADA NAPTA”**

 

**Hekatoncheir**

_Infernal Demon Arms_

 

Breaking through two massive magical portals to cross onto the physical were six monstrous arms. Tinged in purple, white, and red the demonic limbs didn’t waste any time and grabbed hold of Temperantia. One pair dug their ram-headed fingers into each arm while another kept his torso in place, just as the last pair defaced him by mercilessly punching him. The impacts were so hard that the armor broke like glass. After his face became a bloodied crater, the first pair proceeded to dismember him—by ripping off one arm at a time. Pained bellows echoes across the firmaments.

“Dammit! We lost the kid!”

“We can’t go back for him right now! Temperantia needs help!”

The Wind Brothers dashed off to see what they could do for the doomed Auditio.

—“It’s too late for you.”

Arrows rained down into the storm. They stung the twins, skewering through their robes and flesh. Tiny insect-like bites filled their senses. One bit into the blue twin’s shoulder. Enduring it, he was able to figure out what they were: “Urk…Poison arrows? But who—?”

* * *

Just outside the tempest, the shamanic princess—whom Menhit had identified as Cassandra—lowered her aim. “Direct hit,” she murmured after an evil glow faded from her left eye.

* * *

“Yo! We gotta bail!” The green Sage tossed out, struggling to catch himself.

The poison was beginning to work its way through their systems; the blue Sage had no choice but to follow his advice. But a dutiful tear was flung from his eye. “I know…but we have to save Temperantia first. Ready?”

A demonic magic circle had encroached on the Auditio’s back. Within eyeshot, both Twins noticed a quartet of gold rings falling from the storm. “Use the wind to propel yourself outward!” The rebellious Israfel caught on to his brother’s advice, and did. Zooming along the last of the tornado’s spout, the hedgehogs were able to grab both pairs of rings. Their flashed weakly.

“Forgive us, o mighty Wind Master, for with our current power we cannot restore you.” The Twins’ flawless harmony brought down a feather dance. The dutiful Sage’s emerald gaze captured the rings’ light. “But…we can still wield you, only in a different form!” The cool flash entered the rogue Sage’s eyes. His hands reached out for any leftover armor plating—large and small. His brother did the same. “Your sacrifice won’t be in vain, so don’t worry yourself. We’ve hatched a great idea…and you’ll be seeing us again _real_ soon!” After obtaining a decent collection their anklets finally reactivated. Respective bluish-green and greenish-blue jets embraced the debris and the Sages. Careful kisses went onto each gold ring. “Now, with this splendent power, we shall raise you from your suffering and sanctify you once more! In return, please protect us and empower us—with chariots of wind and lightning!” Opalescent brilliance emerged from both Sages’ summoning circles. Slowly, they brought out what was passing through, while finishing together, “Our chariots shall bluster like the fiercest wind and shake the heavens like the heaviest thunder! We’ll combine powers, and you—return anew!”

The Auditio rasped: “MAY THE CREATOR, JUBILEUS, GRACE YOU….”

 **Somewhere over Sunrise & Crescent Valleys**…

As the twister dissipated, with clouds returning to their normal state and the moon gleaming high above, the remaining slabs seemed to have survived. The Umbran seafarer vessel loomed beneath. The Witches aboard—including the rescued Jyeshta and Menhit—watched as the two brilliant lights dimmed. The cat-Witch snarled, “They did the same thing as the Sentinel…So annoying!”

“They’ve been poisoned, so I doubt they’ll be up for any more challenges from us,” the slightly older echidna stated over crossed arms.

“Let’s just annihilate them now, then! They’re weak—?”

“No,” Cassandra contested. “Let them escape. Defeating one Auditio is good enough for us, today. We shouldn’t push it, Jyeshta.”

A sore growl. “…Cheh, understood.”

“Moreover,” the older echidna spoke again, “Where are Anahit and the acolyte? Did he fall to his death?”

Quietly, the princess-Witch placed her hands into a relaxed, ladylike clasp. She smiled, just-as-quietly. “Somehow, I doubt that. He and Anahit need to spend more time together, after all.”

 

 

In Foregoing Pleasures, Amen.


	13. Walking through a Graveyard of Memories

**Verse Twelve – Walking through a Graveyard of Memories**

 

“My mysterious destiny continues onward, its secrets ever expanding. Their seals grow ever brighter, larger…They’ve overtaken my eyes’ field of vision. So is this insecurity that I am concerned, now, about my own past.”

 

_Little Stylo, now a bit older, could see the edge of Heaven. High above, Angels soared around and around. They praised the sun, the stars, and the Earth. Gilded eyes shined as he took in everything. “Beautiful…Is this what love feels like?” An impossible warmth blanketed his body. It made his shiver. It made tears leak. That happy grin couldn’t go away, even if it tried._

_Immense beauty. Maternal love. Love’s embodiment was so indistinct in shape. But its presence yielded to no physical form. An intangible, indescribable force made him weep—happy childlike tears. “I’m here…I am here! I am here to be loved! I’m willing to receive your guidance! I am willing to become your Son of Light!”_

_Someone came down to retrieve him. He couldn’t see their silhouette, the light was so bright. The Empyrean wheels lauded him, for another pride-and-joy of Heaven was now assimilating with them._

 

**Paradiso** – **Time Undefined** …

 

Something was yapping into Stylo’s ear. “Arf, arf,” it went on and on. It interchanged with moist licks across his cheek. Worry could be translated by the patterns and inflection of the barks. After another set of slightly panicked barks, Stylo was jilted awake.

            “Ah! Agh…my head…?” A gentle rub, then bleary eyes took a look around to find the source of the yelping. “Oh? Were you the one worrying about me?”

            At Stylo’s side was an interestingly small creature: Almost the size of a human baby, the tiny canine hopped about, as if excited to see Stylo. In sharp contrast to both Fairness and Fearless, this creature was different not only in size, but in mannerisms. Its tongue lolled, but in between baby-talk—in attempts to speak to Stylo; “bah” and “lah” sounds came out instead of barks, now that the hedgehog was awake. Its burgundy coat shimmered with light-gold flecks. Premature wings looked dormant.

            “Hey there, little guy. Were you scared I wasn’t gonna wake up?”

            “Nah—n…nyah…Yeah?”

            Stylo’s eyes widened; an odd shock shook his chest. Did this creature just talk—as in answer him? Wasn’t it just barking like a dog? Sheer excitement made it gallop about, like a happy child, and—oddly enough—it bounded toward a case of stairs. Open, broad, and decorated, but looking very familiar to Stylo. The Lumen acolyte got to his feet, taking another look around.

            “Wait a minute…? Am I back in Spagonia?”

            Confusion washed over the boy’s features. It looked an awful lot like it.

            “But how? Although…it feels different.” An overhanging vine touched his shoulder, and he shook hands with it playfully. Pale-pink flowers poked out at his touch. They were saying “Hello” to him, in a way. “But I don’t have any angelic powers,” he sighed in disbelief, watching more and more peep out from high above. A blank plate should’ve read something, but Stylo couldn’t remember what. Somehow, an elaborate sun-decaled wall had replaced where a pair of large doors would have been.

            Snapping his head back around, he blinked a little. “Hey? Where’d you go, little guy?” Skirting over to the steps, no one was there. A flicker of panic sparked in his heart. “Oh no, where’d you go? Please don’t leave me alone…? Huh?”

            A space opened up to him. The stairs’ landing led to a courtyard. In its midst was the statue of a woman—a goddess under Aquarius—sitting with a vase. Water pooled beneath her perch. Bright alabaster, crisp mosaics, and a crystal-clear spout. The winged puppy never returned, but it allowed Stylo to take in more of his surroundings. High above him, the clouds were golden. Feathers flittered about, across the stoneware, and tumbled over themselves in warm breezes. Everything brightened his eyes.

            “Incredible,” he sighed again. “Spagonia was pretty, but never like this…!”

            _“This is not Spagonia, acolyte.”_

            Every hair on the young man’s body stood up. His spines stiffened. “Who’s…?!” He spun on a ball, about-face. But no one was there. He blinked. “Wait…?”

            _“This is Paradiso.”_

            The disembodied voice sounded so clear, so physical, it baffled Stylo. But what it said terrified him. “P-…Paradiso?—did I die?!”

            _“No. But I welcome you.”_

            A mysterious warmth almost inhaled him: a wonderful cyclone, intense feelings swelled. Feathers were taken into the swell, even. _“It’s so warm again…It feels good,”_ the boy thought, _“like a hug…from someone you…love?”_

            Suddenly, Arsenio appeared in his mind’s eye.

            _“Come and find me, Child of Light. Seek me out, and you will ascertain the truth.”_

            The voice was lovely. Neither male nor female; somehow, Stylo wasn’t surprised. Earthly voices couldn’t measure up to angelic ones, anyway. Such a clear voice couldn’t be human. Human voices couldn’t speak directly to the heart like this. It had an unwavering honesty in it, one Stylo couldn’t argue against or disbelieve.

            So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and the scent of wildflowers, and grappled a fist. A single nod, and off he went.

            “Maybe I’ll find the little guy along the way?”

 

**Far to the Southeast** , in **Adabat** – **Hours after the battle** …

 

Carefully, Pele steered into a stone face’s mouth. The ship’s masts disintegrated slowly as darkness’s cover enveloped the vessel and its cargo. Flowing from the face’s mouth was a strange liquid—fabled to look like blood from a distance. Overlooking the jungles of Adabat was a half-snake giantess: Local mythos told of a Naga demoness, Padmavati, being summoned by an Umbra Witch in order to save the village that shunned her. Her summon, although a nearly life-costing deed, lifted the village over the path a deadly landslide. Despairingly, the village was frozen solid by the Hierarchy member and an inhabitant of the First Sphere, Glamor, on the pretext of it being an “Umbran hideout” during the Witch Hunts. The Witch’s summon itself was petrified by the Cardinal Virtue Iustitia. Weakened from said ritual, the Witch couldn’t fight back and the Laguna claimed her life.

            The “hideout” was still frozen despite the steamy jungles beneath it; the colossal structure left was nicknamed “Nagini Coil,” since her long body coiled upward. The area around the demoness’s base proliferated due to the life Iustitia gave to it. It flourished, and the wildlife soon returned there. In respects to the unnamed Witch’s efforts, the entire area was called Padmavati’s Nest.

            “It’s good to know that the Umbra are still a fairly prominent presence here,” Bellona remarked cheerily after Cassandra’s explanation. Behind a wooden counter, her hands worked like magic as she composed a meal for everyone. “Even if it’s a negative one.”

            “No way to escape it,” Jyeshta’s breath rumbled, “so why bother?”

            “Our presence isn’t even supposed to be known, is it?” Victoria asked, playing with her doll. She gave it a stick of leek only to watch it chew it up, make a face, and spit out.

            “No, it isn’t.” The older lady-echidna sauntered back and forth behind the seat Cassandra took up. “But it seems the walkers of the Light have decided to force us out.”

            “You know why, though, Astarte,” Menhit threw in, picking at her teeth. “I’m not surprised. I guess the Lumen got sick of how traitor-infested their clan had become.”

            Cassandra threw a hand over her mouth. “That’s not it, Menhit!”

            “Of course, it is. Anahit would’ve punched me for saying that, but…it wasn’t her mistake.” Menhit took out her pipe. “It was never _her_ mistake.”

            In a moment’s silence, the Umbra members reflected on her observation. Jyeshta sat on a short stool, open-legged and with each elbow propped atop a knee. Her tail swayed, in an almost irritated manner. Cassandra’s waist was embraced by a hug from behind. She giggled when Astarte pecked a kiss on her cheek. Victoria snatched her Dark Chao by the marionette crossbar after spotting it try to take a bite out of Bellona’s sandwich. Pele poked the doll with another stick of leek teasingly; the little creation detested by slapping it away and begging Victoria to save it in gibberish. Bellona pinned an eye on it, mid-chew.

            A slow drag. “It was a choice she and that pissant made. Same goes for that geezer Balder. I suppose the Lumen didn’t need a repeat of the same offense. So they got pissed, declared war on us—blaming us, while they were at it”—Menhit forced the rest of it—“tied with us, but decided to kick us while we were down with those damned Witch Hunts. Jesus…even _we_ had more mercy than they did.”

            “Turns out the ‘traitors’ were exiled, in the end,” Cassandra added. Her dainty hands were caressed by Astarte’s demure ones.

            “What a _stupid_ way to ‘love thy brother’, wouldn’t ya say?” Pele asserted in her heavily accented twang.

            “Agreed.” Another sharp huff.

            Menhit’s frustration made itself apparent to the rest of her sisters. Not even Jyeshta wanted to contest it; instead, she turned away from the coal pit. After giving her doll a sweet treat, Victoria’s countenance grew somber. As did Pele’s and Bellona’s. Cassandra received an endearing kiss on her head from Astarte.

            The lady-swallow lied there, in her sideward recline, on a tiger-skin rug. She was running out of tobacco. An angry flash skimmed over her eyes in the briefest hint. She grimaced. “This mess with Anahit and that asshole of a husband…”

 

**Back in Paradiso** , in an unmarked garden…

 

_“…Has gotten_ way _out of hand.”_

            Stylo the Hedgehog had scoured the grounds that strongly resembled Spagonia University. Past the water-bearer’s likeness, he ventured into an alleyway. Moss dampened the shadowy areas. Stylo crept along until he was greeted by the other end.

            “Hello there…? Am I interrupting something?”

            At his polite call, all heads turned to face him: Some Affinities spotted him coming onto the meadow. Their Applaud leaders also saw him freeze up. A flock of Decorations bobbed over to him, as if to examine him. Their close proximity made their feathers tickle against Stylo’s face and sides. “Hey, not so close, that tickles!” But they giggled with him.

            The Applauds waved them off, just as a sturdy pair of centaur Angels approached. The cherubs flittered back, giggling like children. Stylo was startled by the new Angels’ bold approach, but quelled it. Each sporting brotherly colors and armor, huge hands leaned down to take up his own.

            “Oh my…Umm, thanks for being so receptive of me. I really didn’t mean to bother you guys…?”

            “You’re not bothering anyone. Come on over, kiddo. Don’t be shy.”

            Stylo’s ears perked. He’d stepped up to the stonework when he noticed some familiar faces. He gasped. “Hey, it’s you guys!”

            The Israfel Twins were alive and well: The docile twin’s friendly wave welcomed Stylo to whatever gathering was being held. Impressed by the crowd, the acolyte bowed to each Angel that lauded his unexpected arrival. The roguish twin’s cool wink told Stylo not to worry about a thing. A strange-looking Angel turned around to face Stylo; he was caught off guard by its seemingly mirrored visages. Very almond-shaped eyes peered at him for a moment before floating off. Those eyes burrowed into the boy’s soul a bit—almost expectantly.

            “Enrapture was tending to our wounds before you got here,” the green hedgehog said to the boy as he sat down on the ground. “Pretty good healer, if I do say so myself.”

            “Who else in Paradiso could possibly be better, Brother?” rebutted the blue hedgehog, laughing a bit.

            The first twin was compelled to scratch the back of his head. “Well, to be honest, I can think of a couple people….”

            “Wow…You guys…” Stylo drawled. “You’re friends with the Angels, too? That’s so cool.” Intense sparkles glittered in the white hedgehog’s eyes.

            Unnerved by the saccharine display of admiration, the first twin leaned away from Stylo a little bit. His brother showed it to a lesser degree, but waved it off as he gave Stylo an explanation for it. “Well, it kinda comes with the territory. You see, as Lumen Sages, we pledge our loyalty and partnership to the Hierarchy of Laguna. The Umbra Witches lean towards a more archaic and taboo route, forging soul pacts with Infernal Demons. We’re naturally aligned with goodness, under the Creator’s Order, but not all of us are born with it.” A Decoration flew over and nestled down in the second twin’s lap, before he went on. “Sages, like my brother and me, were not attuned with the Light or Angels; just as easily could we have chosen to be murderers, or thieves, or a whole list of other things.”

            A Dear playfully floated behind Stylo’s head. It made it look like Stylo had its halo. Each time Stylo turned his head, it followed his crown. It made him blink a little, knowing the creature was behind him but unable to see him. Leaving it alone, he just smiled; to it did the Dear bob up and down happily.

            The blue hedgehog smoothed his palm across the Decoration’s cheek. It smiled in adoration of the gesture.—“To be super-honest…you have a lot more potential than we do because you are a Son of Light.”

            Stylo’s ears pricked up. “A Son of Light?”

            “Yup,” his brother piped up. But soon after, he stretched his back and reclined against the Applaud sitting behind him. “But I’m gonna let ‘A’ explain it to ya.” Using the sentry’s lap as a pillow, he threw in, “As in Israfel A. He’s the one who’s better at this kind of thing. I’m ‘B’, by the way—in case you didn’t catch on earlier.” He let out an obnoxiously loud yawn. “ _One_ of us has to rest up after that battle, right?” A sweat drop rolled along the blue-robed sentry’s temple.

            “Oh. Okay…Um?” Stylo let out an embarrassed chuckle after seeing the Applaud flick a finger to the side of Israfel B’s head. A loud “Yow! Hey!” escaped before his brother joined in.

* * *

Time went neither too slow nor too fast. It stood still, but things still went on without constraint. Stylo sat with Israfel A, while his twin brother snoozed against a Fairness that decided to show up and take in the spectacle its fellows were internally reveling in—Stylo. The proposed “Son of Light” continued to speak with the slightly older Lumen Sage in hopes of gaining clarity.

            “You said I am a Son of Light, but I don’t really know what that means. Do I have some kind of special ability or something?”

            “In a way. Just so you know, you’re not the only one.”

            “Whoa! I’m not?”

            “Nope. There’re two more ahead of you—three, if you count the Infinite One.”

            Another question mark popped over Stylo’s head. “Who’s the Infinite One?”

            “Father Rodin. He was the first and strongest Angel ever to exist, ruling a whole portion of Paradiso all by himself, and was highly favored by the Creator Herself. His power rivaled even Hers, and he assisted in the creation of the Universe, pretty much as Her right-hand man. But an insurrection here in Paradiso led to his fall, and he’s never been heard from since.” Israfel half-smiled. “A crying shame, really. As far as I’ve heard, he was pretty chill. Wish I could’ve met him beforehand.” He stole a peek at his snoring brother. “My brother would’ve killed to meet him. Secretly, he’s his #2 fan, just behind the Creator.” He winked at Stylo.

            “Tee-hee, I never would’ve guessed he’d wanna be a groupie~!” Stylo whispered, playfully giggling.

            The Fairness’s tongue lolled out for a moment before it snapped back into its mouth.

            “Oh hey, by the way,” Stylo remembered. “I was looking for some…-one, I think?” Using his hands, Stylo tried to give dimensions for the older Sage to follow. “He—I guess—is about this big and has teeny-tiny wings on his back. Did you see a reddish-purple puppy scamper by here at all?”

            Israfel A paused to think. Smoothing out his chin, the Decoration in his lap decided to head elsewhere. Watching it go, he answered, “Oh, you mean Chip? He may’ve scampered that-a-way.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no telling where he went beyond there. But go ahead and make your way up that staircase, and see where it takes you.”

            Stylo had gotten to his feet to see what he was talking about. A wide, winding band of light with no railings or foundation. It floated there in a golden coil. Cautiously approaching, the white hedgehog wasn’t sure what the top landing would reveal. Israfel A had given it a nearly scrumptious mystique. So, adventurous citrines sparkled with vigor. “Alrighty, thanks! Here I go!”

            The blue hedgehog trained his gaze on the boy. The two centaur Angels from before seemed to punt around the lowermost landing a tad nervously. “Don’t worry, Accolade,” he called over to them. Seeing their displaced visages discern him, he went on, “He’ll be okay. Besides, everyone’s got an eye on him so he’s perfectly safe. If you still wanna help, by all means go for it. Don’t let me stop you.” He gave the red-armored Angels a cool smile.

            Encouraged by Israfel’s words, both the Accolades went off to keep track of Stylo. The Sage had a feeling that the others might want to look after him, too, so the squadrons of Applauds and their Affinities took off after them. The Fairness fidgeted as it watched them leave.

            “Aww, you wanna go, too? Or are you just antsy about the little white lie I told him?”

            The Angel yelped, as if the idea scared it stiff. It was enough for it to reveal itself as “Libra” and literally pop out of its disguise. Israfel B’s head collided with the stonework; an aggravated “Yow! What the hell, man?!” preceded him holding the bump on his head.

            “Go on and catch up with him, okay?” He poked the puppy Angel’s nose. “Stay with him long enough, and I’ll treat you to one of those ice cream sundaes you love so much~!”

            “Yay! Yay,” the cherub cheered, whirling around in the air eagerly before jetting off.

            Such enthusiasm was considered strange for an Angel. The Wind Brothers knew Libra was no ordinary Angel, however. Extra-careful watch was needed to keep tabs on him, Israfel A had figured out for himself. Especially after all the scolding he and his calamitous brother received from not only Temperantia, but from the Sentinel, as well.

            “His reaction to that is always priceless,” the blue hedgehog chuckled endearingly.

            The green hedgehog folded his hands behind his head. “I guess. But I thought Angels couldn’t eat human food…?”

            A moment’s awkwardness. “I actually don’t know, for sure. I’ve never seen an Angel eat… _anything_ before.”

            “Either they don’t need to eat or they can’t, for whatever reason.”

            “Funny you should say that. If the latter is the case, then I guess sundaes just look really pretty to Chip. In an it’s-too-pretty-to-eat kind of way.” A sweat drop rolled down.

            “Huh. Maybe…?”

            The Wind Brothers looked over their shoulders and saw that the Enrapture from before had returned. It floated there, waiting patiently, with its staff and a satchel in hand. It blinked slowly, its right eye closing a bit faster than its left one. Another awkward pause filled the air between them.

            “Um, how long have you been floating there?” Israfel B asked.

            But he was given a delayed blink in response.

            “Heh heh…more importantly, Bro,” his blue-haired twin stepped in, “…you weren’t finished healing us, were you?”

Another blink. It came closer and handed them the satchel in its hand. It was taken up kindly, peered into, and examined. Consumables came in vials, powders, and spreads. Various aromas ranged from lightly sweetened to downright bitter. One of the vials even looked like it had soda in it.

            “From the Gleaner, I presume? Thanks, but you probably should’ve gotten to us sooner.” Noting the Angel’s nonresponse, Israfel A continued. “Because that means we’re still poisoned…technically.”

            “It’s like I forgot while that kid was here.”

            “Quite the surprise guest, wasn’t he?”

            The Enrapture blinked once more.

            “…We should probably let Enrapture treat us now.”

            “Yeah, I’m starting to feel icky…”

            “Like nausea?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Me, too.”

 

**Paradiso’s upper echelons** , floating gardens…

 

A sense of wonder enwrapped Stylo from head to toe. The Angels from before flew up to say goodbye; it left Stylo confused and a bit lonely, but the feathery spectacle they left persisted, even at the top of the golden path. It spiraled upward, the biggest and brightest he’d ever seen, looking so otherworldly Stylo didn’t contest it. He reached the top and let out a victorious huff. “Wow, what a workout! That was amazing!” His excitement made him hop up and down like a happy little boy.

            The earth beneath him was fertile, but calloused from chronic trips. Like the dirt path leading to the mission in Lucia. Flowers poked out around them. All too reminiscent of that lovely little hamlet, Stylo let out a sigh. He brushed his hands across the flowers’ heads.

            “I wonder how everyone’s doing. Father Pieria’s probably fuming about this…but Fathers Sigmund and Nestor, I’m not all too sure. And the schoolboys, little Miles and Shelby, I hope they’re not distressed by my disappearance. Father Nestor, please keep praying for me.”—His hands went into a beseeching clasp—“I will come home. I will gain the power I need to protect you all. Just have patience…while I unlock more secrets to this mysterious destiny that’s seized me.”

            High above, atop an old archway behind him, were peering dutiful eyes. A quick gleam hinted at an ulterior motive.

 

**Back on Earth** , **somewhere further southwest of Spagonia** …

 

The architecture around Anahit was slowly merging with those of Grecian and vaguely Nordic qualities. The white bat wandered a bit before realizing where she was. Magenta coattails fluttered in a haunting breeze.

            “This is…!”

            Ruins littered the valley side. Overruling vegetation clambered over some of the abandoned structures. Shattered columns looked apologetic. Craters pocked other places. The path leading towards the tall stone likeness looked more treacherous than Anahit remembered.

            “Gudrun…what have they done to you?”

            The Umbra effigy, a founding Witch named Gudrun, had a huge stake going through her chest. Its upper tip was broken off, but Anahit was sure a sun decal had been there; no other entity could have speared her like that. Seeing it made her blood boil. She grappled her fist.

            “The Lumen…Why? How dare you betray us?!”

            Dark magic coursed along her spine. “UPAAH,” she incanted above a growl. Then, a secondary pair of bat-like wings returned, lifting her up and over the valley side. Gaining a bird’s eye view, the desolated land expanded under her. Life was robbed from it and never returned. Soil grayed and grasses withered. No more flowers bloomed. Rains came and went, but brought no signs of recovery. Nearly petrified in appearance, Anahit assumed the Cardinal Virtue Iustitia may have been behind it. _“He robs life just as quickly as he gives it,”_ she recalled bitterly.

            An updraft brought her even higher. She rode along it, tempted to search the grounds for whatever Clan-related paraphernalia might be left.

 

* * *

Crossing through the valley’s more verdant expanses, the Sentinel wandered into a village. He had no intentions of meddling, but he did notice a wall memorial: One that told of the exploits of a Spagonian commander who led a platoon of mercenaries into battle some centuries ago. Back then, he and his men had passed through that little town, too, on their way to Apotos. Even though he seemed like the type who’d never sway from his objective, he promised a little boy named Elio his return—in victory and with caches of food for the hungry villagers.

            The Sentinel stood a moment, thinking back. He spotted the names Marc Antonio, Dukes of Draco, and the Ring of Solomon. His brows furrowed, deepening with each connection his mental processes made.

            Continuing on, the commander and his troops stayed a night and left the next morning, resuming their trek further west. Almost a month later, Marc Antonio crossed through with his platoon again, gallivanting and praising the help they’d received. Little Elio witnessed a “sparkling light” around the men, even as they charged back the way they initially came.

            The Sentinel lowered his eyes a little. “‘Commander Marc Antonio…and his Dukes of Draco…they won and returned, as promised, toting bales of food in wagons. They stayed to celebrate and to dwell, certifying the village’s protection. Even erecting a church in Elio’s honor. Without his abiding faith in the soldiers, the villagers would have given up and died in starvation…” He stepped back in reflection. “Another triumph in the name of courage…This has your seal on it, no doubt, Fortitudo.”

            “INDEED.”

            The massive face, now allocated to the big shield on the hedgehog’s back, beamed with modest pride. A tiny smile seemed to be for the memories he’d retained.

            “You remember it all very well, still?”

            “YES. IT WAS I WHO GUARDED THOSE MEN INTO BATTLE, HENCE MY NAMESAKE IN THEIR TITLE. AND THAT BOY, ELIO, WAS A PURE SOUL. HE TOOK A FANCY TO THE IDEA OF GALLANTRY, AND COMMANDER MARC ANTONIO HAD TAKEN UP ITS AURA SUBCONSCIOUSLY.”

            “So, he adopted the idea from the little boy? Without even realizing it?”

            “HE DID. HE WENT TO APOTOS TO SPEAK WITH THE HIGH PRIEST RESIDING THERE. UPON MEETING HIM, HE FELT—WHAT HUMANITY DESCRIBES AS—AWE. THE HIGH PRIEST CLAIMED HE’D BEEN TOUCHED BY AN ANGELIC PRESENCE, AND IT SUPPLANTED WISDOM INSIDE HIM.”

            The Sentinel nodded. A hand went up to his heart. Smoothing over that carmine gem. “I have a feeling Sapientia was behind that.”

            “HE WAS,” Fortitudo answered matter-of-factly. “HUMANITY REVERES THAT FATEFUL ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A HUMAN AND AN ANGEL, EVEN TO THIS DAY. PROOF SETTLED AS A RING THE PRIEST WORE—AND BECAME A LEGENDARY ARTIFACT, KNOWN AS THE RING OF SOLOMON.”

            “The first Human to be gifted with Angelic power…correct?” Moistness had entered his eyes. The gilt eye mask had reshaped itself into a beautiful circlet. A broad medallion hung across his forehead, now. Gold hooked intricately about his crown, while the crimson beads remained. They swayed in a chilly breeze.

            “INDEED.”

            “I’m sure Father remembers that encounter, as well. He’d better…”

 

**Back in Paradiso** – **Garden of Light** – **Time Undefined** …

 

_“Since he_ is _High Priest Solomon.”_

            Stylo’s memories swarmed him. A familiar, childlike wonder filled his heart. It pounded; unsure why, the white hedgehog grabbed his chest. His smile slowly melted. _“This feeling…It’s too much…I can’t—?”_

            Suddenly, the ground dropped from Stylo’s feet. He didn’t fall, but his brain couldn’t tell him what was happening. In fact, the ground hadn’t moved at all; neither did he. His hands couldn’t find the ground or anything else. It was truly a discomforting feeling. Even scary.

            “What is this? What’s happening to me?” Tears flooded from his eyes. He struggled to catch them. “Why am I crying like this? I’m borderline hysterical…! But why?”

 

_Baby Stylo wailed. Anahit knew he was frightened. But the man was leaving her behind._

 

            “Wait. Was that…me?”

            Something sounded like an explosion around him. He cringed, screaming. But someone caught him. The grip promised security, safety, even comfort. Stylo found himself huddled against someone’s chest. Coming back to his senses, he shook his head.

            “Welcome back, Stylo.”

            The boy brought his eyes up to the person who caught him. _“How did he—?!”_

            “You’re alright, now, dear.”

            “Whoa…! You’re—uhh…really…umm…?”

            “Yes?”

            The man’s face almost rivaled the Sentinel’s in beauty. Without an eye mask, though his eyes were blindfolded instead. It was still much easier to identify this hedgehog: Brilliant slate colored the streaks on his head-quills, since he was without a hood. Ostentatious ornamentation crowned his head, latched his fold’s belt, and the others coursing the rest of him. His muzzle was pale as linen. His smile was quiet, as was the clear-cut kunzite engraved in his chest. An endearing aura flooded Stylo’s whole body as nonhuman hands touched his.

            Stylo and the older male were too close for Stylo’s comfort. He flushed in embarrassment. Much too vibrantly to be considered such.

 

 

In Walking through a Graveyard of Memories, Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: Once again, the sentences in all-caps are Auditio Enochian that I cannot fully translate.


	14. Crossing Lovers with an Ocean of Stars A

**Verse Thirteen – Crossing Lovers with an Ocean of Stars A**

 

 **Adabat** – **Padmavati’s Nest** – **Meanwhile** …

 

Jyeshta refreshed the hot coal bed, even adding a spark with a finger snap. Thrusting her hand deep down her doll’s throat, Victoria pulled out a map. Her Dark Chao, in turn, coughed incessantly; tiny lint balls came up, too. She and Cassandra spread out the map, anchoring it with rocks, and gathered their Sisters around in a circle. Cassandra brought a few shiny rocks out of her satchel and toyed with them a bit.

            “Adabat”—she labeled with each rock, this one a cloudy jade—“Spagonia”—a brilliant topaz—“Apotos”—a sapphire tiger’s eye—“from there, Isla Del Ángel.” The last stone was a milky opal. “Our plan lies on this path. First, we must make our way back to Spagonia. From there, we can regroup with Anahit and continue on to Apotos. I do not doubt an Auditio battle will happen there, at some relatively distant point.”

            Astarte nodded. “There are two left: The Giver of Life, Iustitia—”

            “And the Controller of Seas, Sapientia,” Cassandra finished, smiling lightly at the older echidna’s touch.

            “I ain’t never liked Sapientia,” Pele threw in. “He’s always been a narcissistic bastard on the battlefield…Humph!”

            “The worst-case scenario is facing them both at once,” Menhit threw in next. “One on land, and the other on the water.”

            “Problem is,” Bellona had to interject, “you never know when Iustitia’s gonna rear his…seven, ugly heads.” A knot formed in her stomach, recalling the Auditio’s seven faces.

            “That is a concern, indeed.” Astarte nodded once more.

            “We’ll just have to prepare for the worst,” the idea slipped under the lady-swallow’s sigh. So did her drag. “Just get ready to split into teams of four, after we collect Anahit. That should keep the Laguna busy.”

            “Menhit.”

            All the Witches turned their sights to Jyeshta’s soft-spoken interjection. The cat-girl rarely came off as soft-spoken; it was a new phenomenon, even for Menhit, to witness. Cassandra and Astarte gave her their attention, while Pele and Bellona gawked at her in surprise. Even Victoria’s Dark Chao crawled into her lap, as if recoiling from a snake. As the teenager’s heel pecked at the floor, Menhit gave her a smirk.

            “What’ll we do about that kid? He’s just a baby, but he’ll pose a real threat to us if… _he_ gets a hold of him.” A serious glower was aimed at her senior.

            It was returned with a clever gleam. “It’ll be a disaster if _any_ of them gets a hold of him, really. And, quite frankly, I’m sick of all this attention he’s getting. Wherever he is, Angels aren’t too far off. He’s a walking bug zapper…in the most useless way. We’ll be the ones getting zapped, instead…Hmm?” Donut holes floated from her _kiseru_. Her canary-tinted shades flashed back at the rest of her Sisters. “Ooh, even better: We’ll keep the kid all to ourselves.”

            Her kindred let out tiny gasps. Jyeshta’s eyes flared.

            “Wait, Menhit,” Cassandra exhaled, a bit shaken. “You don’t mean…?”

            “ _Sō da ne_.” Another drag was huffed. Her clever smirk never went away. In fact, it grew: “In other words, we’ll just have to bring him over here, to the ‘dark side’.”

            Cassandra flushed at Astarte’s protective clutch. “Impossible! He’s been too deeply steeped in the Light! He won’t forgo all that he’s learned—he’ll use it against us!”

            “Not if Mummy-dearest manages to tell him otherwise.” A lick curled against her beak. “With enough tact and charm, she could easily sway him…since he seems so easily swayable.” She directed her sights out the partially unfrozen window. The sky had grown misty, damp with rain. It was going to take a lot more than that to melt Glamor’s ice. “We’ll collect her when the time comes. For now, I trust her to nurture her child…and spill _something_ to him.”

            The moon lolled in the sky. Night was creeping away—ever so quickly.

 

 **Sunrise & Crescent Valleys**, more on the **Crescent** side – **Early morning** …

 

Matriarch Gudrun’s likeness stood tall and strong, in spite of that skyscraper-sized stake. Her innards were set up like a tower: a coiling staircase, hidden rooms, lever-operated doors—everything that alluded to a hideout-within-a-statue. Small bats fluttered in the bell-less belfries and bobbed between upper buttresses. Special passageways took Anahit to new areas, the higher she went.

            It also meant Angel encounters.

            She battled flawlessly. But in the back of her mind she figured out why they were there. And it made her frown. She couldn’t afford to waste any Magic power right now, she reasoned. But the Affinities proved to be annoying; their Applaud captains, cowardly. It was time to break out the big guns. An ever-looming Ardor kept its partner at its back.

            “PAMPHICAS…!” one sneered before thrusting its sword at her.

            “Yeah, right!” She shot back—verbally and physically. She snagged Witch Time; it allowed her to swap her foot-held pistols out for a pair of stylish reddish-pink rifles. Spread-eagle, she fired a multitude of buckshot rounds from her feet. She alternated between each Ardor, staggering both of them. Wheeling out of her Bullet Climax, she shook her hips at them. “Now, with hearts smashed in my wake— **AMGEDPHA** ”

            Mystical white coils swelled from her outfit to swirl around her upper arms, legs, and over her bust and pelvis. A hair-laced magic circle opened up behind both Ardors. Half-naked without their armor, they couldn’t escape the clutches of Anahit’s summon.

 

 **Madama Nielli** 

_Captivator of the Malebolges_

 

            Sharply nailed hands grabbed hold of them, smashed them together, and wrung them like towels. Necks and other bones snapped in rapid succession, blood splattered, but the curtain fell when vampiric fangs clamped down to drain them of any remaining blood. Soul-scratching shrieks sounded before the Angels eroded away.

            After an exchange of devilish grins, Anahit sent back her summon. Thus, regaining her original attire. She dusted herself off. “They need to piss off,” came her remark in a condescending tone. “I don’t have time to deal with them…!”

            “Yet you’re making time to deal with me? That’s a bit counterintuitive, don’t you agree?”

            Suddenly, feathers rained down on Anahit. Plucking one from midair, her aquamarines sharpened to the peacock’s notable eyespots. She flashed a fang; cinnamon feathers. Fortitudo was there, too? For some reason, his aura was much more condensed than before. Without looking, she addressed the man who spoke to her.

            “It’s not counterintuitive. It’s charming. Or, at least, I would’ve thought so. Hmph, such the man you are.”

            The man got up from his perch high up over her. That crimson tabard swayed. New ornamentation adorned his uniform: Gauntlets protected his forearms, now. Accented in gold and white, they guarded against anything that big shield couldn’t. Coordinated shin guards did the same for his legs and knee-high boots. The waist shield had gone, so his trousers’ multiple belts could be seen instead. Elegant sleeves had surrendered to the forearm guards, allowing strong leather bands to bind them. Semi-physical flames wafted from his shoulders, now.

            That chest gem, still without Fortitudo’s seal. Beautiful eyes, new without a mask.

            Anahit scowled at him. “Such the fool _I_ was for falling for you…sweetheart.”

            “It was of no fault of your own.”

            “Listen to you—how smug! Ha hah, how you slay me!”

            A frown. “I know what you’re here for, Anahit.”

            Gravity weighed down on them. Tension ensnared the air around them. So much that even the ambling feathers scattered.

            **Bang!**

            An instinctive shot. Yet, it yielded no result. The man simply snatched it up and let it drop. After a futile _clink_ , he shook his head. “If I am whom you’ve truly sought, then come after me.”

            At his attempt to leave her, Anahit snarled. “No—get back here! _You’re_ the one who’s supposed to come after _me!_ ” Dark magic flared, releasing her summon’s wings, and brought her up to the hedgehog’s roost. A doorway led to a hallway, which led to the outside. She made a beeline down it, even though his figure had disappeared. Furious stilettos stabbed the ground she ran over.

            “Not again…! You’re not ditching me again, you bastard!”

 

 **Paradiso** – **Elysian Fields** – **Time Undefined** …

 

Stylo felt a lot better after meeting that mysterious man, a hedgehog uncannily beautiful like the Sentinel. This new person, with an aura much more calming, led him through richly populated meadows. Stylo had never known fields so expansive anywhere other than in Paradiso. Drifting ahead of them was Libra, who seemed to be conversing with a rout of Enchants. Wildflowers shivered in the breeze. A blue halo hung in the sleet-like drifts cradling the horizon. That gold sky glittered. Watchful silhouettes wandered overhead; Stylo had their attention. To them, he giggled.

            Looking over at the man, he found the blinded man wearing an engaged look on his face. A bit too reflexively, Stylo blushed. “Ah—umm…I-I’m sorry, about earlier…I’d w-wanted to say…p-pretty…but I thought that might be a strange thing to say…to, you know, another man.”

            “Oh? Nonsense, dear.” His smile beamed. Pearly whites were flawless, in every sense of the word. A chuckle lilted through them. “I take it as a compliment. I’ve been given many extravagant names, and even more elaborate titles…but at most I’m called ‘the wise owl,’ ‘the sly fox,’ with ‘the patience of a tortoise,’ to boot.” Another chuckle. It sounded so clear and good-natured.

            Stylo blinked a little. “Really? I guess, in comparison, I’m just the bubbling bee—buzzing around with no clear sense of direction.” A nervous chuckle escaped when Stylo scratched the back of his head.

            “Though, much like the bee, you hold a very important role and must perform a very important task.”

            The twenty-year-old blinked again. “I didn’t think I was _that_ important, though…?”

            There was no visible “sun” in the sky. All the fields were alit in heavenly radiance. Other minor Angels started to appear and danced around both Stylo and the older hedgehog. Indecipherable giggles floated in and out; somehow, Stylo felt like they were greeting them and praising them. A familiar-sounding word was caught, though: “LIBA”

            A shier shade of pink dampened Stylo’s cheeks. “Um, excuse me again.” He locked eyes with the man’s blindfold once more. After a brave gulp, “Are you…a Lumen Sage, too?”

            Libra, no longer remotely canine, looked back at them. They had stopped suddenly in the field. Feeling a bit anxious by the distance between himself and the two hedgehogs, he drifted slowly back to them. Partnered Dears bobbed in his wake.

            There was no specific reaction from him, at first. As if hearing his name being said for the first time by a baby, a miraculous smile overtook his face. “Yes, dear, that I am.”

            Tender roses blossomed in Stylo’s heart.

            “Much like you.”

            Like him, he said? Was there a truth in those words that Stylo had yet to catch? “Wait…like me?” Then, his eyes bucked. “No way…! You’re a Son of Light—one of the other ones?!”

            A sweet laugh. “Why, yes. I am the Son of Light under Rodin, Jupiter. I was also High Priest Solomon in Apotos before I became enlightened by the Cardinal Virtue of Wisdom.”

            Stylo had no breath in him. “Y-Y-You’re…You’re still a Sage, though, right?” Questions flooded the boy’s head, so he was trying to sort them out by priority.

            And, even blindfolded, the man could see it. He sensed Libra floating up to him, and welcomed him into a one-armed embrace. That very nonhuman hand stroked Libra’s shoulder.

            Upon closer inspection, Stylo noticed that the hand was entirely of cloth: Even more of it enclosed his entire torso. A giant stylized padlock held everything together, it appeared. Gilded chains banded over his shoulders, across his upper arms, and anchored at his hips. Freefalling ligatures decorated his capuchin. It was the interlocking ring charms that made Stylo wonder.

            “Yes, I am. Though, time has eluded me, but age has not. The Infinite One passed the torch to me, so to speak. And it’s been a long time since another, such as myself, has come along. I’m sure the Creator is triple-pleased by this.”

            “Where is she, by the way?”

            The blind man lowered his head a little. “I cannot say. But, from what I know, she is asleep. Highest within the cosmos, she resides peacefully. From what I’ve gathered from the First Sphere Angels, she seems to drift in and out of consciousness.” His brows lowered, as well. “According to them, that could be a sign.”

            “…That she’s waking up soon?”

            A stillness reverberated. It made Libra tug on the Sage’s robes. He even hid his face in them.

            “Yes…but it also serves as an ill omen.”

            Stylo flinched a little. “Isn’t the Creator supposed to wake up? She doesn’t have much control over the world below if she’s asleep…right?”

            “That much is true. At the same time, though, the Creator has so much power and dominion…that if she took control, earthly existence would nullify.” He lifted his eyes to the golden sky. “The Earth would surrender to her mere presence.”

            Ambers widened in disbelief. “No way…! You mean she could destroy the world…just by appearing before it?!”

            “It’s her Mercy that disallows it, however. Her aura is the strongest I’ve ever known, and I’ve had many conversations with the Auditio in regard to it. It is immense; alongside is her Divine Will, quartered into the Virtues of Courage, Temperance, Justice, and Wisdom.” A placid smile bowed his lips’ corners. “One of whom you, yourself, may call upon.”

            Stylo’s heart skipped merrily. Excited sparkles glittered in his eyes. “I…I can? Really?”

            “You’ve much more training to do, as I’ve seen from your test against the Sentinel.”

            “Wait…” All the spangles in Stylo’s eyes melted. “You saw that? But how?”

            Floating at the man’s side, Libra’s canine features had fallen away completely to yield to a more humanoid appearance. Strongly, he resembled a Joy, another member of the Hierarchy’s First Sphere. But alterations in his aesthetics made him vastly different—merely besides the more claret hues he sported. Blond extensions danced down his back, despite him being half the height of their length. Royal materials emphasized Laguna properties, from his porcelain-doll skin to that high-ranking halo. A short cape adorned his tiny shoulders; a chain similar to the older Sage’s held each side together. Oddly enough, the Angel still regarded Stylo even with the armored eye shade guarding his eyes.

            “It is because I can see all things, Stylo. For I am the Gleaner.”

            Stylo felt it again: The man’s voice invoked awe within the boy. Somehow, Stylo could feel his flesh rippling, but calmly. Every hair on his body stood up. His heartbeat quickened. And he could’ve sworn an armada of blue-armored centaur-Angels galloped across the fields. Petals swarmed in their wake; some even flurried against the Sage’s back. Going past it, Stylo had to shield his eyes from them. When his arms went back down, the Angels had formed a semicircle around him.

            The white hedgehog gawked at the older Sage for a moment.

            “I can see the Earth. I can see its people. I can see their feats and follies.”

            Libra twirled up to stroke one of their faces, whose cheeks flushed bashful rose. Conceding to a much more authoritative Accolade, the half-Pegasus underlings trotted back. The Gleaner seemed unfazed, but Stylo could feel its fiery aura. He also felt like he could’ve swooned.

            “…I can see its hope, but also its despair. I can see their virtue, but also their sins.” One of the Sage’s cloth-like hands stretched out to Stylo. “I know you can see it, too, Stylo. You always have…ever since you were young, in the years can no longer remember.”

            Libra floated back over to the Sage’s side and gripped his robe’s hem once more. His lips quivered nervously.

            Stylo didn’t know where to begin with his questions. So, he let the Gleaner continue.

            “You are a Son of Light, Stylo. You are the third in our line to receive a grade of omnipotence—a taste of the Creator’s power. You have been chosen by her to lead this world into a new era…but what that will mean is up to you.”

            “Whoa, wait—me?”

            “Yes. This was decided long ago. It was during a time when great strife erupted, on the crest of the Second Eclipse…during a time you cannot remember.”

            Gravity seized the space between the Lumen master and acolyte. Memories, unseen by Stylo, traipsed through it, too. Ivory spears gleamed, their gold adornments nearly blinding slivers. Their hooves drummed against the soil in a militaristic gallop. Its droning rhythm brought Stylo into a mild trance. More petals flurried.

 

* * *

_Upon that cliff, Stylo stood. Streaming armies glided past, much like what he’d seen in his earlier days. Brutish Beloveds charged. Staggered lines of Applauds and Accolades led their underlings into battle. Golden pools fell in one massive, cryptic circle. Stylo had no idea where they were headed off to in such a rush. His own robes billowed in the turbulence of a giant snakelike Angel zooming by. Enchants, Dears and Decorations made up the inner lines while platoons of Enrapture divided the cells, guarded by Ardors. Canine Fearless bolted through the skies; Fairness skulked at Ardors’ side. Warships bearing ivory-faced helms sailed over Stylo’s head. But, oddly, the Auditio was nowhere to be seen._

_Before he could wonder why, a quartet of hedgehogs like himself came up to encircle him. Curious, Stylo looked to his left and saw the Israfel Twins—fully masked and geared. To his right, he saw the Gleaner—also fully garbed but no longer blindfolded. Even then, he could not see his eyes. A serious wind rushed through. It brought their uniforms into a dramatic flutter as it hit Stylo’s face._

_But first, it had to pass by the Sentinel, for he stood at the forefront. With Fortitudo’s face on his back. Incomprehensible commands were heeded by the four other Sages. But an insecurity came over the youngest of them. Stylo had the Gleaner’s hand to hold._

_Somehow, in all of that, a single phrase made it into Stylo’s ears: “Protect the Sons of Light as they go into battle.”_

_A simultaneous laud, mixed with emotion and reverence. Absolute bravery on behalf of the Laguna soldiers._

_Stylo didn’t have any words for it. It was just too unbelievable._

* * *

 

The Gleaner had disappeared at some point. “It was during the time of your birth.”

 

 

In Crossing Lovers with an Ocean of Stars, Amen.


	15. Crossing Lovers with an Ocean of Stars B

**Verse Fourteen – Crossing Lovers with an Ocean of Stars B**

 

 **Sunrise & Crescent Valleys**, Guardian Statues Jormungandr & Gudrun…

 

The Sentinel sat atop the Lumen Elder’s stone shoulder, now. The stone likeness resembled a founding Sage, Jormungandr, and it was massive, standing story upon stories tall. It overlooked his side of the valley—adequately named Sunrise Valley. Verdant shrubbery, grasses, and floral belts coursed the landscape. Streams and ponds slept beneath the overcast sky; pools of silvery-gray speckled the landscape. It felt awfully familiar, yet so far off, in the Sentinel’s memories.

            “You’ve some nerve, running away from a lady…!”

            The Sentinel got up calmly, sighed, and faced Anahit.

            The bat-Witch had propped herself atop Gudrun’s shoulder, almost mirroring the Sentinel. Her coattails flapped in the wind. Fuchsia-strung boot heels clacked against the stone upon landing. Her pink palms faced the Sentinel as she flexed her hands outward. _Crack—crack!_ “Prolonging the inevitable only irks me, sweetheart…Might as well get this over with now. Since…you know…” At a clever flip of her hair, a pair of grayish-pink pistols made their way into her hands. She posed with them. Highly suggestive, and alluring, she gestured the Sentinel to come at her. “I’ve been _itching_ for a fight.”

            Not the least bit surprised, the Sentinel let a foreboding wind clamor through. His eyes never moved away from her. Nor her provocative pose, or taunting smirk. A more serious flash entered his eyes. He placed his hand up to his chest-jewel.

            “ **YOLCAM…IALPRG**.”

            Fortitudo’s halo returned, only to hang behind the Sentinel’s crown.

            “Blazing Seal: Laguna Armaments.” Magical movements brought the big shield from its mount and onto the Sentinel’s left arm. Unsheathing the claymore from its sheath within, the Sentinel created sparks. It was as if the blade sharpened as it left its scabbard. Holy light glowed around it. “Protect me, Zealous Courage! Serve me, Fervent Strength! Combine your powers—to become Fortitude!” He brought the blade to his face before making a grand slash outward. One strong enough to blow back Anahit’s bangs.

            “AS PLEDGED UNDER THE HONOR OF THE HIERARCHY, I SHALL,” Fortitudo’s voice rang like a morning clarion. His veiled helm returned. The Sentinel finished with a stronger, dutiful, “Hallelujah!”

 

 **Paradiso** , overlooking Star Ocean…

 

Galaxies bounded over infinite space. Celestial objects collected as colorful space dust, comets, planetary systems, and more. Marvelous new ones were being born, and, like happy new mothers, did the Angels sing their praises. Delight fluttered overhead. Even a trio of lady-Angels clapped and bounced together.

            Yet, somehow, it didn’t hold Father Balder’s interest.

            “Praise to the Mother of All that is Holy.”

            Balder turned at the gentle exaltation. Approaching him from behind was the Gleaner. Still blind, however, he didn’t hesitate at the presence of the Angel trio. He greeted each one: “Greetings, Joy,”—the greenish Angel smiled kindly—“Devotion,”—a more sunshine hued doppelganger twirled girlishly—“and Passion.”—a daringly magenta Angel flashed him a peace sign.

            “What’re you doing here, Solomon?”

            The Gleaner, with the Angels crowding around him, paused a moment. A calm smile. The golden Angel, Devotion, pecked a sweetheart’s kiss on the hedgehog’s cheek. “Sapientia insisted that I talk to you. He was so sure of himself about it that he ferried me here himself…which is rare, considering his temperament.”

            “You shouldn’t abandon your post. What if you miss something…especially now that the Sentinel is engaged in battle with that petulant wench?”

            “I am fully aware of his battle right now, Balder.” A mutual, and strangely civil, disrespect floated between the two men. The Gleaner stopped beside the much taller human. Even with the obvious species different, it was fair to say the hedgehog stood a little shorter at Balder’s back than the Sentinel did. At least the fire-imbued Sage could touch the man’s shoulder blade. Be that as it may, the mysterious Sage was never intimidated. “What’s bothering both me and Sapientia, right now, is this ‘agenda’ you have in Spagonia.”

            A dissuading laugh. “You needn’t worry yourself about that, Solomon. My agendas are my own, so no peeking at them.” A caustic sneer went directly into the hedgehog’s face. “Simply mind the world as it turns, just as you have for the past 700 years.”

            In return, a dismissive scoff. “Indeed I shall, you don’t need to be snippy about it.”

            The Passion levitating behind him stuck her tongue out at Balder.

            “Ha ha, very cute,” the human Sage sighed. “Your aura bears a stronger resemblance to ‘Him,’ now…as well as that newcomer I sense. What was his name…? Ahh—Stylo. Quite the little charmer, isn’t he?”

            Somehow, Balder’s smile made the Gleaner’s stomach quiver.

 

* * *

_Anahit’s fury blazed in the form of her summon’s wings. The Sentinel countered every razor-sharp scale with that undeniably strong big-shield. A golden flame enshrouded the Sage’s blade. His brows dipped slightly._

* * *

 

            Balder made a grandiose gesture with his hands. “The Angels simply adore him! The cosmos bends and wheels for him, for that smile—so innocuous and bright! And just as they have for the Infinite One and his ‘line of progeny,’ that boy is no different…is he, Solomon?”

            “You’ve quite the ominous tone in your voice, Father.” Blatant distaste could be seen souring the Gleaner’s expression. “What are you scheming?”

            “You—the wisest of us—know not of my agenda? ‘Tis a pity. But, at the most, I am grateful for that. Worry not over what you do not know, for you will know it when the time is right. When _I_ say it is.”

 

* * *

_A merciless thrust was aimed at Anahit’s abdomen. But quicker reflexes allowed a pirouette, a hip bump, and rounds of concussive shots to be fired. The Sage’s claymore deflected each one as he staggered past. He scowled. A more indecisive tinge flushed his face._

* * *

 

            The Gleaner lowered his head at the human’s departing steps. The lady-Angels watched an awkward pause prance, back and forth, between the Sages. But Joy simply smiled. To which Devotion and Passion wondered why.

            “No harm shall befall that boy, Balder.”

            The human stopped at his name. Suddenly, the Gleaner’s declaration brought down a single Beloved. “Mark my words.” Its massive ax slammed into Balder’s path. It shook the ground, Balder had to admit, but not enough to topple him. Not quite flustered, Balder gathered himself and flashed a lensed eye back at the hedgehog.

            That masterful blindfold gave no sign of the Gleaner’s protective forcefulness. The golden Angel clutched onto the pink one’s arm, who grabbed onto Joy, in turn. The Beloved snarled a bit at Balder.

            A narrow blink. “Consider them marked, dear Solomon.”

            The Gleaner’s silent command went to the Beloved raising its weapon out of Balder’s way. And, as if never fazed by it, Balder resumed on his path. There to pick him up was a gloriously sleek and decorative car. It bore no wheels, no driver, and no plates. French-style doors welcomed him. Luxurious contours were literally out of that world—the Human one, at best. Even a cup of coffee awaited him. An unsettling nod.

            Then, he was gone. Again.

            Passion shook her fist at his farewell. Sensing a tantrum of sorts, Devotion hovered up to hold her back. Incomprehensible rants escaped while the Gleaner fell into a reflective silence.

            Joy lowered her gaze, as well.

 

* * *

_He wasn’t surprised by Anahit’s sneak attack. Consecutive blasts bombarded his ears, but he boosted himself into an acrobatic flip. A fluid dodge led to a flighty retreat. But the chase continued._

_“You’re not getting away from me_ again _—Jubal!”_  

* * *

 

            The massive Beloved scratched its head a little, wondering why the Gleaner looked sad all of a sudden.

            “Everything’s alright, Beloved, I’m alright,” the Gleaner chuckled. Joy cradled his cheek into her bosom while smoothing a hand along the other. Devotion linked arms with him after Passion practically threw herself on him. Sweet cooing sounds softened the hedgehog’s expression. “I just remembered something, ‘tis all.” A sweat drop trailed along his temple. “Balder only calls me ‘dear’ when he’s irritated. Humph. ‘Tis all, I swear.” He waved his hand in a dismissive way. It managed to worm its way out of Devotion’s girlish nuzzling.

            Joy’s bosom smothered him. But the Beloved wasn’t sure if the Sage was simply lowering his arm or if it was falling limp, it moved so slowly. Joy smiled sweetly before plucking his face out of her cleavage.

            Breathing a little hard, the Gleaner grinned awkwardly. “Ah…Thank you, Joy. I can breathe again.” Devotion and Passion giggled a little. “Now, now. You both have a bit to go before you’re fully endowed like Joy.”—Both Angels gasped—“Especially you, Passion.”

            The magenta-tinged Angel huffed, throwing her arms in a cross, and gave Devotion a full-body glance. Her bust was slightly bigger than hers, but nowhere near as developed as Joy’s. Realizing her relatively weak shape-shifting abilities, she puckered her lips.

            “Don’t worry about such a paltry matter. What I need you two to do for me…is much more attention-intensive.”

            Both Passion and Devotion saluted.

            A more serious grimace crinkled his nose and normally smiling lines.

 

 **Back in Sunrise & Crescent Valleys**…

 

The Sentinel’s armored eye-mask lost its left half. Light Speed spared his eye from a foot-shot bullet. Another acrobatic flip took him higher in altitude within the blink of an eye.

            “No way! You’re not getting away! You ditched me when I needed you most!”

            More pinpointed shots went past the hedgehog’s face; one even nicked the shortest hairs on his ear. “Damn it, Anahit…!”

            “Stop running from me, Jubal!” Anahit roared. Frenetic energy went into her pact summon: “Perfect—Umbran Climax: **AMGEDPHA**!”

            Rosy tendrils swirled about the bat-woman’s curves. Arising from her shadow and snow-white hair, the fully formed face of a demoness charged at the Sentinel. Giant vampiric teeth were countered by his tortoise-shelled withdraw. Locking the demon’s jaw in place, Fortitudo let out a triumphant bellow. Suddenly, fire engulfed the shield. The Sentinel slashed through the demon’s screech and sliced her head in clean halves—from ear to ear. Dark magic dissipated.

            “That’s not the end of it—hah!”

            Anahit threw another kick his way and unleashed another flurry of bullets. Blazing nicks clashed against that claymore blade’s Valiantium, however. “This is _not_ the end!” The demoness’s bejeweled claws raked the Sentinel’s shield, thus Fortitudo’s face. The force pitched him into Jormungandr’s Staff—or the miraculous article’s likeness.

            Anahit was fuming. “You should be ashamed of yourself—pitiful excuse for a man! Now you think you can just show up here, insult my memory with your indifference, and expect me to chase you?!”

            “SENTINEL, BRACE YOURSELF!”

            The bat-Witch landed her roundhouse kick right into Fortitudo’s forehead. The strength of it cracked it, but the rest was transferred into the stone. An impact crater appeared at the Sage’s back. It tunneled through and into a sanctuary-like area within the statue. Almost mirroring Gudrun’s insides, a circular tower hid within the innermost walls of Jormungandr. One solar-themed skylight opened up from above. Blue-dark starlight worried for him.

            Especially since Anahit was virtually pummeling him.

            “Damn you for betraying me, Jubal! And damn me for falling for you!”

            A finishing strike was left to settle with the debris. Anahit’s axe kick missed by a literal hair. From within it galloped a dazzling silver-lined, ruby-streaked ram. It leapt out of the chamber.

            “Get back here, Jubal—or I’ll skin you alive!”

            But the ram kept running. In its sights was the Umbran end of the bridge. The big shield had resized itself into a pendant around the animal’s neck while sharp red banners rippled behind each sprint.

            “You’re not getting away…!”

            An earth-shattering leg thrust crossed the Sentinel’s path. In the nick of time, he switched back to his hedgehog form to block it. Dust flew out. Stone cracked, sinking under the impact. Livid aquamarines burned through the sky’s predawn cover. They burrowed into regretful rubies.

            It was held there. Anahit’s heel was harrowingly—and expertly—jammed in the big-shield’s mouth.

            “Now, it’s come to this, sweetheart? It took 500 years for me to catch—even a glimpse of you?! Where had you gone? Why didn’t you come back for me?” More strength went into her thrust. She pushed further between Fortitudo’s lips. Tears were banging on her eyelids. “What about our son, Jubal?! What did you do with our son?!”

            The pathway gave in. More shots fired; again, she aimed straight for the Sage’s face. He continued to defend against her with absolute durability. Taking cover, he used Light Speed to skip across the falling stones. Safe for a moment the Sentinel knelt there, expecting Anahit to assail him again.

            He was breathing hard.

            “STAY RESOLUTE, SENTINEL. I AM HERE WITH YOU.”

            “Thank you, Fortitudo,” the hedgehog replied.

            _Cha-click!_

            Finally, her pistol was at point-blank range. He could feel the firearm’s hot ring closing in on his forehead. Something clinked ever so softly. He turned his eyes up to see what it was. It was familiar. It was resonant, meaningful. Within the farthest reaches of memory he saw those little charms.

            Namely, that padlock-and-key.

            Sniffling: He looked up from the charms, along the woman’s calf, hip, waist, bust, then to her face. To her quivering bottom lip. And her boiling tears. She hiccupped. No words came from her. Neither Sage nor Witch spoke. She wanted to cry; she’d been so close in not showing those tears. And the Sentinel knew it.

            That’s why he didn’t look away.

            “S-Stop staring at me like that,” the bat-woman spat. “You don’t deserve to look at me. Avert your eyes, Jubal.”

            And he did. Without any resistance.

            Even Fortitudo said nothing about it.

            Quickly after, the Umbra Witch relinquished her tears. Her leg wobbled a bit as she found her footing again. She gripped her pistols tighter. Obviously, she was unwilling to emote like this in front of him.

            And he knew it. He’d gotten up, at Light Speed, throwing her off guard, and gently took hold of her face. One hand had sheathed his sword to take up her chin. It tilted up to him. Before instinct could play in she had been taken by his eyes.

            Deep oxbloods. Mirrored abysses. Only with one perspective behind them. A thumb went to her forehead, and let her see it for herself. A tiny gasp….

 

* * *

  _It was too bright to be nighttime. Golden auras lit the sky. One mighty aura destroyed everything. The Umbra Witches couldn’t defend themselves. Anahit couldn’t see past the haze in her vision. She couldn’t understand the words coming out of Menhit’s mouth. Angel seals broke steadily through Umbran ones. He couldn’t protect them for much longer._

_A baby wailed. He took it into his arms without thinking._

_Then, he left a barrier before disappearing into the light._

* * *

 

            Anahit dropped her pistols. Her lip continued to quiver. Her tears continued to rush down. The Sentinel removed his thumb. But she snatched up his hand.

            “Jubal…?”

            She didn’t want his hand to leave hers. Her eyes plead him to stay, to see more, to know and understand what she couldn’t before.

            He couldn’t deny her like this. So he gently removed his visor. A single ruby regrouped with its mate. Now, a better pair of eyes met hers.

            More tears poured down. “You were exiled. How did you—?”

            “Not now, Anahit.” He pecked a kiss just under each eye. _“But soon, my darling.”_

            A sweet-nothing: The last of it came as a voiceless whisper. She gasped, a bit louder this time, and realized he’d disappeared once more. She threw her sights around. Left—right—up above? There, back on Jormungandr’s shoulder. Sword sheathed in his shield, he gave her one more glance before heading off. She caught a slightest gleam—very close to his face.

            That meant the sun was rising. Already?

            Anahit’s uniform billowed as she watched another exit feather float away in the breeze. It was much gentler, milder, calming somehow. The cinnamon feather’s eyespot waved “till we meet again” to her, not “goodbye”. And it brought a relieved smirk to her face. She took up her pistols again, and gripped them tightly. “Well, that’s that, for now.”

            From the halved bridge, on the Sunrise side, she welcomed the morning.

 

 **Isla Del Ángel** …

 

Overlooking a spiraling metropolis, Father Balder sat before a vast window. His coffee sat on his desk. Ornate in a historian’s taste, but also technologically advanced to suit the typical evil scientist. An intercom-like conversation was happening between him and another colleague.

            At each side was an attendant.

            “Doctor? What phase of our surprise have you reached?”

            A fellow older gentleman enthused, “Ahh! So glad you asked, my good sir! Let me see, according to the plan’s blueprint…”

            Droning explanations followed, but Balder proved to be a masterful multitasker: With his hands alone he directed his two assistants’ movements. One—a mauve-haired human with hazel-green eyes—took up a tablet and accessed the CEO’s itinerary for that day. A clever calendar booted up, and clean swipes brought him to the current date. He passed it to Balder, for the man to look over. Something about solar plants made its way into his ears as the other assistant—a dark-skinned human with sea-green eyes—divvied some breakfast onto a pristine china plate. Fanciful gold edges sparkled in the rising light. Sweets were declined, but he welcomed the raspberry parfait; even topped with a raspberry.

            “…Total completion probably won’t be reached till a couple months from now, Father. On your schedule, for the most part, sir.”

            A gentle wave, and a smile. “Thank you, Daniel. You and Leon are dismissed.” The two men bowed and departed. Balder sipped his coffee. “Very good, Ivo.”

            “Oh please, sir, I must insist—call me ‘Dr. Robotnik’.”

            A casual blink. “Ah. Please excuse me, Dr. Robotnik.”

            “Yes, yes, of course! I’m sure your day is packed with appointments, sir. I’ll continue my research, as well.”

            “Doctor?”

            “Y-Yes?”

            “…How’s your father holding up?”

            “Ah, he’s well. The earthquake must’ve worried him, since Spagonia University is his alma mater—in every sense of the word.”

            “Worry not. The city’s infrastructure should have stabilized by now. The hill to the Coliseum must be inhabitable, correct?”—There was an affirmative response on the other end—“All’s well, then. I will be returning at some point. I pray that the transcontinental line from here to there will be complete by then.”

            “You can count on me, sir! I’ll man the helm in your glorious stead!”

            “Why, thank you. I leave it to you. Until then.”

            “Indeed.”

            Disconnection was swift. Balder thought nothing more about it. He did remember the quartered hassle he had to go through getting to Spagonia: Flying would have been much faster, but the airport was outside the city’s limits. After the flight would’ve been a private car taking him to the University. Trains were calming, gave him time to think, process, maybe even scheme. He could plan an entire weekend event on a four-hour train ride. His mental processing was faster than any computer he came into contact with. He never despised technology; he embraced it as the new world’s medium for casting “magic.” He didn’t see much of a difference.

            Pulling rabbits out of one’s hat. Disappearing acts. Teleportation, though crude as can be. One magic that humanity did not master was the practice of the Lumen Sages. Sacred arts—the Hermetic Arts. Ordinary beings would never master it, much less to the fullest extent. He, himself, was one of the rare few. Born within the most clandestine of grounds. Within the most hallowed of clans. Most lost to history, but Balder had grander ideas.

            So he finished his coffee. Then smirked. He scooped up a raspberry with the slightest hand. Balance held the berry in the spoon. Precision kept the parfait’s form.

            “You’re on to me, aren’t you…?”

 

 **Holoska, Arctic Circle** – **Around the same time** …

 

_“…Solomon?”_

            Icy waves rolled. The ocean sang. Massive bodies rose from the water. They proved themselves to be whales. Wondrous songs greeted the Gleaner and the Auditio of Prudence before they passed under a frozen ridge.

            “Oh, those are blue whales! They’re greeting us, Sapientia,” the Gleaner clapped sweetly.

            “UGH, OF COURSE, THEY ARE. IT’S BECAUSE _I’M_ HERE.”

            On each side, ice-block huts dotted the glaciers. Tan parkas and decorative shawls denoted the villagers. An elderly woman and her granddaughter seemed to be preparing to cook while ice fishers snoozed a bit.

            Something else had drawn the Gleaner’s brows together.

            “WE’RE ALMOST THERE, SOLOMON.”

            “I know. Just past this archway…”

            And soon, a whole new world opened up to them. It was a beautiful, bustling arctic city. A mixture of northernmost cultures blended there. Shingled with icicles and plated in nature’s glass, the buildings’ native colors popped all over the place. Wooden docks sat nearby; Sapientia steered towards them.

            “I WILL MEET YOU THERE, SOLOMON. BE CAREFUL.”

            “Thank you, Sapientia. With the Laguna’s vigilance I’m sure I will be.” The Gleaner stepped onto the dock. As a farewell, Sapientia submerged and swam off. The Gleaner could see distant lights. The town’s lanterns were too close to be the same ones he saw. Regardless, they were decorative and suited to the environment. Surely, the ice simply mirrored the glass.

            The Gleaner felt safe there. “Hello, Noatun. We meet again.”

            A mountain’s frigid caps shined in the distance.

 

 

_In Dooming Lovers with an Ocean of Stars, Amen._


	16. The Footfalls of Proserpine A

**Verse Fifteen – The Footfalls of Proserpine A**

 

**Paradiso** , Temple of Harmony – **After the _Maison_ d’Arcness battle**…

 

Massive sigils had locked the Israfel Twins inside. Endless waterfalls cascaded into streaming rivulets. They meandered beneath an elegant footbridge. Brilliant stonework and eye-catching accents lost the attention of the Fearless pacing about. It kneaded at the soil, awaiting—anxiously—for the Twins’ return.

            White plumes drifted by. The Angelic lock pulsed.

* * *

Inside the temple, the Twins maintained deep concentration. Each twin meditated in his kneel. Israfel A never let go of Temperantia’s rings, just like his brother. Mystical lightning bolted around in the Temple’s dome. Shining rays of golden light emanated from the Auditio’s revitalizing halo.

            The Israfel Twins incanted together: “TIA…SAPAH…” Circular motions made it easier to move with the massive gold rings. Careful choreography made the Auditio’s revival look all the more magical. The Twins’ coattails bobbed about their calves. Incredible upper arm strength maintained perfect balance in each ring. Each one swung a pair around his wrists.

            “ZONG-OD ILMO…”

            Israfel A and B struck a final pose. Catching a ring, they showed it to each other. The others pointed at the ceiling. Momentum brought the pool away from their ankles. They timed their brotherly smirks well. And, a split second later, came a crash of lightning.

            “NOASMI…POLA.”

 

**Holoska** , Arctic Circle – **Noatun** , Harbor Market…

 

“My, such a beautiful city.”

            The Noatun natives went on about their daily business as Solomon passed through the streets. Frost seemed to disappear after perusing some bazaars. Not to mention, the weather was fairly mild. He remembered Sapientia’s presence, placing a finger on his chin. “It’s wonderful that Sapientia is in a good mood today. Otherwise, he’d summon a storm on a whim. And I’d be hurt if that happened.” A chuckle. “That’d be _one_ way for everyone to know, I’m sure…?”

            Unlike modern Spagonia, Noatun held a distinctly domestic hospitality. Its townspeople were open and welcoming. He remained hidden within Purgatorio, but he could still see how receptive the natives were to other tourists. Beautiful aquamarine tunics sported white ciphers.

            Much akin to the faithful garbs worn by the Spagonians.

            Smooth stones cradled placid waters. Sunrays beamed down as the Gleaner traversed a masterfully crafted plaza. He took in its quality. Solomon’s own garbs were a reflection of his regalia as the High Priest of Apotos some hundreds of years ago. Bound by his Angelic powers, he promised never to use them unless it was meant to “bring harmony between the Trinity of Realities.” Swearing on the word of Laguna, Solomon was blessed with not only his Ring, but also a Chaos Artifact.

            The lock and chains that bound him: The Holy Ligatures.

            He stopped to gaze upon a statue’s face. Oddly, it resembled more of a cut stone than a person. Feet and hands peeked out from that octahedral cloak. Even more symbols decorated the statue. He saw that one created an opening for the face. Only eyes could be discerned amidst the sculpting. “Ah…So favoritism has settled here, as well. I see.” The Gleaner’s greeting came easily and somewhat jokingly. It wouldn’t have been difficult to hear it as “foreboding,” either.

            Nonetheless, a passel of Chao was intrigued by him; enough to follow him around.

 

**Approaching the Cascade Foregrounds** …

 

The Gleaner passed under the sunlit arcade. More amazing architecture assailed him, doling out angle after golden angle. It was in the floors, pedestals, and walls; even the glass overhead emphasized interlocking spheres. It still amused him to see how prominent a presence of faith there was in Noatun. In the most pretentious way possible—it reminded him of Sapientia. Was this a frequented retreat in the past, he wondered?

            He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

            The Chao behind him got a bit sidetracked by the hall’s beauty.

            Just on the other side was nothing but immaculate architecture. Spires, flying buttresses, and tender ivies; trees dared not overshadow the building’s façade. An otherworldly air floated about it. Its cupola inspected the premises underneath. The Gleaner’s presence brightened the stone, enlivened the greenery, and excited the waterway surrounding it. Its crest glittered.

            The Chao behind him cheered.

            “Oh, so it was you little ones following me?” The Gleaner laughed. Playful coos peeped like baby chicks. Tiny, squishy bodies smothered him with loving hums and adorable giggles. Cloth-like arms were full as Solomon made his way towards the open court. Flawless balance brought him across the pool’s shallowest edge. One curious Chao poked and tugged at his blindfold. It was confused by how he could see if his eyes were covered. “Oh, no no, dear…Don’t fiddle with that.” Another cloth-arm unraveled to pluck the Chao off his head. “It’s very important that it doesn’t come off. So leave it be, alright?”

            “Chao…?” Then, a piece of candy had magically appeared. It was a planet-shaped sucker. Blue for blueberry, the Chao praised the gift and took it into its mouth without a second thought. It sauntered off to enjoy it, while its brethren wondered where it came from.

            “No worries. I’ve a treasure trove of them. Here”—A small basket of candies had magically appeared this time—“one for all of you~!”

            “Chao chao, chao chao~!” they all squealed in a bull rush. Rainbows of candy—from suckers to gumdrops—were passed out. The Gleaner produced a handful for them. One Chao was the picky prankster, but stars flashed in its eyes when an incredibly specific Bubblegum Stardust-flavored lollipop was given to it. An instantaneous transformation occurred, and it shed its neutrality.

            Wonder brightened Solomon’s smile. “Ahh, did I charm you into becoming a Hero Chao, little one?”

            “Chao, chao!” it peeped in pure excitement.

            But soon after it, wave upon wave of little halos and white wings sprouted. Happy cheers raised to the heavens above. Thankful Chao crowded around the Gleaner to give him big hugs.

            He couldn’t help smiling at them. “Oh, how wonderful,” he remarked in a soft, tender sigh. “I’m sure Father Rodin would’ve loved to see this. His only weaknesses in all the worlds were penguins…and Chao.” He chuckled sweetly.

            After their attention spans expired, the Gleaner left the Hero Chao to their play. Seeing that they hadn’t left, he wondered: “Normally, Neutral Chao migrate to Paradiso after evolving into Hero Chao. There must be an Angelic presence here aside from mine…”

            Turning on a ball, he faced the grand entrance. He focused a bit on it. Soon enough, he found himself scrolling through his memories.

 

_“Now, you gotta remember: This is a secret place. I’m countin’ on you to help me keep it away from Humans, alright?”_

 

            He remembered sighing to himself, as if exasperated. “Father Rodin left me with quite a handful, didn’t he?” A happenchance leer over his shoulder allowed the Gleaner to catch a hint of someone. He tilted his head a little, stepped towards the doors, and opened them.

 

**Inside the Chamber of Prayer** …

 

“Oh my, this is…?”

            Cracked flooring. Shattered walls. Overgrowth. A tree had begun to grow in the Chamber’s place. Somehow, the surprise was removed upon Solomon realizing why it’d remained that way. That tree had broken, but another one succeeded it a few strides away.

            “The Chamber of Prayer? Oh, dear. Such disrepair…!”

            His memories of the place were very different from what he saw. He’d been to the place once or twice before. One specific time was to visit an old “friend” of Father Rodin. His heart sank with each step and every surfacing root. Lightning must’ve struck down the first tree. Sunlight barely shined through the broken ceiling. Past it, the sky was casting over.

            The Gleaner stopped one more time. “Alright, I know you’re there.”

            _Twitch!_

            “You can come on out, now.”

            _Sneak, sneak…_

            “I mean you no harm…?”

            And there sat a sunny-blonde flying squirrel. Not even a full stride away. It sat before his feet, in direct line of sight, and waited. Dark round eyes went up and down the Gleaner’s body.

            “I thought I heard someone scampering about. Who’d have thought we meet again like this?”

            Those ankle boots. Those slender calves. That warm, tender, albeit commanding aura. That delicate smile. Those pearly veneers could be mistaken for the Gates of Heaven themselves—easily! The squirrel was practically hawking him: Its little jaw gaped. Its carroty tail flinched. It even dropped the peanut it had.

            “Umm…?”

            “Sweet Mother of Jesus.”

            “Oh!”

            _Poof!_

            From within a light-blue dust cloud, a young man appeared. He batted the smoke away from his nose. He even coughed a little. Fine glitter attached itself to snowy cornrows. More persistent flecks stuck to leave his medium-dark hands, forearms, and yellow vest. Teal-lined sneakers scuffled against a crack and made him lose his footing. Catching himself, “Whoa, whoa!” escaped his lips. Then, he brushed himself off. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Well…hello there, love.” He bowed like a gentleman. “Here. Lemme take care of this mess, yeah?”

            At a finger snap, a powerful blue flare rushed from his hands. Mystical energy took hold of the collapsed chamber, and everything was conducted into place. Clever fingers pointed broken slabs back to their proper foundations. A touch of whimsy guided walls and frames back into place. Even the second tree receded into the first; the first’s roots had receded back into the ground.

            The Chamber of Prayer was restored to its former glory.

            A look of approval graced the Gleaner’s features. Much to the young man’s fancy. “So…whaddya think?” His eyebrows flicked handsomely.

            “I’m impressed,” the slightly taller hedgehog mused. “It gladdens me to know you’ve not grown rusty…Sovereign One.”

            Said young man winced. Anxiety was created, throwing the shapeshifter into a defensive stance. Threatening pools pierced the Lumen Sage. “Hey…how do you know that name?”

            Suddenly, a mystical blue card was sent Solomon’s way. He wore a forgiving smile even as he remembered the card’s potential. Time slowed for a moment as Solomon processed the boy’s next movements.

            Then—in a flash—came an ivory claw.

            The card had a chance to touch it. Even sooner, the boy realized he’d erred. “No!”

            All was well, despite it. Only the claw had vanished. White static fizzled into a sparkling gold dust. It revealed the protector’s inhuman hand, gripping at nothing to acknowledge the boy’s power. Solomon didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. Before any other moves were made, he took its hand and caressed it.

            “Thank you, Gracious-dear.”

            A timid expression marked the Angel’s face as Solomon smoothed it in gratitude. It suddenly knelt down, like a knight, and nodded. At its imitation of Human chivalry, Solomon was charmed by it. He even sighed lovingly, “Oh, how sweet of you.”

            Another, ebony and fiery, gauntlet glided in front of Solomon. A twin to Gracious, in strength and physique, growled at the boy.

            “W-Wah! Hey, don’t you go snarlin’ at me, cuss! I was just—?”

            “All is well, Glorious. Loki meant no harm. Stand down.”

            Flames had engulfed the warrior-Angel’s gauntlet, but Solomon laid a hand on it like it was nothing. From where he was, the boy Loki minded how the Sage interacted with the two Angels. Slowly, as the hedgehog proved his hold on them, Loki lowered his defenses. Disarming himself of his magic cards, he looked on at them.

            Fables of two Angels had permeated into his ears over time. Somehow, Gracious and Glorious were familiar to him. As if he’d met them before. From what he’d heard, they were never too far from Solomon if he ever journeyed someplace on his own. What connection did he have with them? Had Solomon grown up with the two Angels? Were they assigned to guard him?

            “Hey? Seriously…how’d you know my name?”

            Solomon noticed the boy had stayed on edge. Ever-cautious and wary. Gracious and Glorious kept an eye out for any sudden movements, but question marks bubbled in their halos at the former High Priest’s chuckle. Loki’s stance changed, fists prone, knees bent and legs kept apart. Sooner yet, though, Loki locked eyes with the Lumen Sage. Physically blinded, the hedgehog showed an intriguing, beguiling expression. As if it were meant solely for Loki: It was of understanding and patience. A light blush took over the boy’s countenance.

            “Oh my. You must be losing your memories faster than you’re finding them,” he remarked, dismissing both Angels. “Especially if you’ve forgotten about _me._ ”

            “Yeah, I s’pose…‘cuz you seem _real_ familiar, somehow. Tell me, love: Have we…met somewhere before?”

            Rather indiscreetly, Loki pulled Solomon’s palm into his own. It was quite a stretch, even for Solomon. A misplaced pillar caught Loki’s elbow and supported him. Like a mini-smooth operator, he was stroking the hedgehog’s hand—a tad too lovingly—and even kissed it. He flicked his snowy eyebrows at him; from behind his blindfold Solomon picked up vibes of awkwardness. “Your face…it’s so lovely, how in bloody blazes did I forget?” Sweat pierced through Solomon’s pores as an icky feeling came over him.

            “L-Loki…?”

            “Yeah…?” The boy puckered his lips at him.

            “Are you…trying to kiss me?”

            “Maybe~?”

            “Ah…Well, I must assure you, dear, that”—he halted Loki’s advance with a single finger—“I’m not interested.”

            “Huh?! But why?”

            “Simply because…I’m too young for you.”

            Tearful beads bubbled at the corners of Loki’s eyes. They had been replaced by heartbroken, quavering pools. “N-Nuh-uh~!”

            “Plus, I’m a grandfather, too.”

            And, with tears and snot running down, the boy cried to the heavens, “No~!” Dramatic hands pleaded an answer from the sun, “Why me?!”

            Solomon stepped back. His remark came with a particularly blank look: “I figured you liked animals, but that's crossing a _very_ bold line.”

            “Gah?!” Loki froze—back rigid, arms locked, teardrops shattering. Fingers, twitching.

            “Alas, you tried.”

            Comically, Loki’s distress teetered his balance on the makeshift pedestal. Solomon, on the other hand, gave it a swift kick to the side and sent it across the floor. Keeping his blank face. The boy ended up on the floor face-first, as a consequence. “Ow…” he groaned. To add to it, Loki—behaving as moronically as never before—lightly punched himself in the head. “Stupid, stupid…thrice, I say…” was chanted for a little while.

            To which Solomon had to ask: “Are you alright, dear?”

            Loki sobbed, “No…”

            “Come.” To Loki’s eyes meeting his blindfold, he added, “Walk with me.”

            The boy flushed a bit, sitting up from his recline. “Fah hah! Y’ain’t gotta tell me. I know exactly why you’re here, love.” He brushed himself off, coolly fixing his face to “appear more attractive,” and sauntered over to the Chamber’s main fountain. He pointed at the skylight above it. “You’re wanting to go up there, right?”

            Solomon smiled a little at it. “My, my. How did you guess?”

 

**En route to the Cathedral of Cascades** …

 

Both Loki and Solomon traveled safely within the parallel veils of Purgatorio. Small banter passed between the hedgehog and Human boy. Loki asked Solomon a lot of peculiar questions, almost to the point of annoyance. There were some things that had to be left unsaid. But Solomon was able to disclose some things Loki may have forgotten.

            Like how Rodin entrusted his portion of Paradiso to Solomon, the Auditio’s plans, even the Human World’s state of affairs. Especially about the particular imbalances that worried both him and the Auditio.

            “Huh! So the Lumen traitor strikes again, eh?”

            “Actually…the traitor this time…is my son, Jubal.”

            Loki stopped in the middle of the courtyard. “Whoa! What—not again!”

            “It’s true. Although, the repercussions of my son’s transgressions have not been as severe as they’d been for Balder. According to the Auditio, and what I have witnessed personally, it appears a counterbalance has been brought to the Earthly plane. Normally, two wrongs don’t make a right, but in this case…?” Solomon fell into a contemplative silence.

            Loki shrugged. “Hey, depending on how things go, I’d look at it like this.”

            As Loki gathered his thoughts, Solomon remembered something. Tagging it to his mind’s forefront, he turned to face the boy again.

            “Well, I remember the First Eclipse. Didn’t think there’d be a Second one, though. But hey, how this plays out all depends. Let’s say”—he plucked a Neutral Chao from its flight path—“ _this_ little guy is this ‘counterbalance’ you spoke of.” The Chao blinked a little. “And let’s say, for the sake of relevance, that it represents the Human World. Now, ya see how it’s neutral right now? That’s ‘cuz there ain’t nothin’ to influence it; it’s just a blank slate. And you and I _both_ know that’s _not_ how this World works. So, we got two other places to worry about.”

            At the snap of his fingers, Loki brought two desserts into existence. Light-blue magic cradled each dish, bringing them to the floor. One was placed on one side of the Chao, while the other mirrored it. The Chao tossed its eyes back and forth, a little bit confused.

            “We’ve got Paradiso and Inferno to influence the Human World. The preferred medium: Purgatorio.” Loki pointed as he continued to explain: “Let’s go ahead and say this Angel food cake is Paradiso, and the Devil’s food cake is Inferno. The fact that they’re represented as cakes is Purgatorio—aka, a way of influence. If this ‘counterbalance’ is drawn to the Angel cake, that means they’re gonna lean towards Paradiso in alignment and try to do things that are better for the Human World. If they’re drawn to the Devil’s cake, they’re gonna side with Inferno.”

            Solomon watched the Chao struggle to make its choice. Something from the back of his mind began to argue with the forefront. Concern marked the Sage’s face.

            “Simple, really,” Loki shrugged again. “Wouldn’t you say, love?”

            “I would, indeed.” A sternness had entered the Gleaner’s voice. “Loki. Have there been any fluctuations in Noatun lately? As in, changes in temperament or behaviors in the people?”

            He folded his hands behind his head. Icy blues wandered around the courtyard for a moment. “Ahh…None that I can say. At worst, there’s been a string of petty thefts goin’ on, but that’s about it.”

            Concern didn’t leave the hedgehog’s expression, however. He turned in the tall mountain’s direction. It stood like a pinnacle to the world’s crown. On highest, legions under the Laguna banner surely paraded around its zenith, very much like a stereotypical halo. A godliness flooded down that mountain’s sides.

            Loki had made an excellent point. Now, all that was left was figuring out what he could and using it to his advantage. His utmost priority was taming Balder. The unruly Sage had grown obsessive over the centuries he survived. Not much older, Sapientia’s advice to the former Wiseman was to wait it out: The Auditio were somewhat bereaved by Balder’s personality change. At best, all of them knew what he had planned. It sounded like a countermeasure was needed in order to act against him.

            In his stomach’s pit, Solomon knew what Sapientia had alluded to.

            “Loki. Come with me to Fimbulventr.”

            The boy’s pyramid pendant flounced at his sharp turn. “Wha—Why so suddenly? I thought you got what you came for!”

            “No. I came to see if you were well, and you are. But now…I need to go to the mountain yonder.”

            Even with its godly air, there was also a precarious one intermingled with it. Was there yet another presence there?

            Loki sunk his hands into his pockets. He’d thrown on his hood and goggles. A more serious glower had overridden the exasperated one. “Well, I was gonna tell you there ain’t nothin’ up there you need…but I know what you’re hinting at, now.”

            The Chao from Loki’s demonstration hadn’t gone back on its route. It floated up to Solomon and attached itself to his shoulder. It shivered there, crying softly, “Chao, chao…!” Solomon caressed its head. “Don’t cry, little one. You’re safe with us.” His gentle tone calmed the creature, and it nuzzled closer to his neck’s crook. That non-living hand felt cozy, warm like a real one but soft like cashmere.

            The Gleaner faced his blinded eyes to the mountain once more. “Yes…I need you to accompany me to the Garden of God.”

 

 

_In the Footfalls of Proserpine, Amen._


	17. The Footfalls of Proserpine B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief but intense depiction(s) of blood/gore, violence, and some heavy swearing ahead.
> 
> CONTINUE WITH CAUTION.

**Verse Sixteen – The Footfalls of Proserpine B**

 

**Cathedral of Cascades** , ascending the **Bridge to the Heavens** – **After noon** …

With each step closer to Fimbulventr's peak, Solomon's uneasiness grew. Dry mists chilled the air. Altitude wasn't truly the issue, at the moment; poor Loki, however, shivered a bit. So did the Neutral Chao clinging to Solomon's chest. Cloth arms fashioned themselves into a sling, securing the little creature there. It nuzzled closer to the golden padlock. It emitted a fatherly warmth.

            "Heh heh…you look like a new mother, love."

            Solomon only smiled. "Is it that easy to see?" he joked under a soft chortle.

            Loki clasped his hands behind his head. "Yup. But, hey…?" A more serious glare replaced his lighthearted smirk. "It's 'cause you're keeping it safe, ain't it?"

            "Indeed…"

            Under a flash of his goggles' lenses, Loki took another look around. Rebuilding the Bridge had awakened his powers, momentarily. It'd been a while since the last time doing so. Loki's memories had grown sparse over the countless centuries; almost as if they were being siphoned out of his brain. It was an odd sensation. To add to the mystery, they were being replaced by images he'd never seen before. The Bridge to the Heavens had been closed off and destroyed some millennia ago. It had something to do with the prediction of the First Eclipse, where both Clans knew what was going to happen. By happenchance, the Founding Sage and Witch met to seal it off—closing off access to both the Bridge and Fimbulventr.

            Loki remembered them leaving the Cathedral of Cascades. A distant memory, somehow ending with twisted feelings and a grudge.

            Icy-blue eyes leered back and forth slowly. A low growl rumbled under Loki's breath. _"Something ain't right…."_ His body tensed.

            The Lumen Sage brought the Chao closer to him. It was shivering. "Chao chao…" it quibbled, on the verge of tears.

            "It's alright, dear," Solomon coached it in a soothing cadence. "…It's always scary the first time you see them." A much more serious glare.

            Then, their footfalls came to a halt. The mountain's mist continued to float around them. A dreary thinness failed to assail their lungs, for their breaths had choked a bit. Loki pulled out a sliver of his card deck.

            "Ya feel that?"

            "Yes…a Demon's aura."

            "Kinda reeks, doesn't it?"

            "I'd say."

            Nothing appeared before them yet. A pregnant pause skirted by.

            "More so, there's more than one."

            "Hey, you for real?!"

            Suddenly, a swarm of feathered Demons ambushed Solomon and Loki. Collaborative caws sounded like battle cries. They revved their arms back; gleaming scythe blades threatened to come down on their necks.

**Hideous**

_Infernal Demon Soldiers_

            Solomon had the perfect counter: " **ZARNAAH**!"

            In a brilliant flash, white lightning surged. It zapped through each demonic soldier, paralyzed them, and kept them in midair for a moment. In that same instant, black fire raked through them. When the miraculous heroes reunited with the Sage, hapless cries pierced the air. Razor-thin slashes cut into more or less clean halves. Some burned while others had blood spurting out of their bodies. Without a chance to thank them again, Solomon reintroduced his bodyguards to Loki. A translucent book ghosted in front of the Sage.

**Gracious & Glorious**

_First Sphere – Seraphim_

            But then, sneaking between them was an ostentatiously crested Demon. Raven-black feathers diabolized the beauty of Applaud. It was armed with a red double-headed scythe and adorned by crimson rings. Two strong wings flexed upward while it crouched down. It showed Solomon a deathly glare and gave him a baleful chirr.

**Hatred **

_Infernal Demon Commander_

            Agile handling aimed the twin crescent blades at both Solomon and Loki's necks. Icy blues flared; a startled grimace marked the Sage's features. The Chao squealed in fear as the hedgehog reflexively clutched it closer.

            Without a single utterance, concussive blasts burrowed through the Demon's body. From the skull down, bullets buffeted it into bloody submission. Gold whizzed by Gracious and Glorious' vision as they turned back to see who had stolen their bounty. As did Solomon, but more curious than jealous. Loki had flinched, but Solomon smirked.

            "Don't worry—we've got this!"

            The boy looked on, wide-eyed, while a pair of contrasting young men came out of the radiant mist. Silvery-gold wedge heels clacked down the stairs in perfect sync. Those robes had even more tatters in them; both shredded up to the knees. Rebellious spikes rose from their epaulets. They spiraled a bit too familiarly. As they did around their necks and wrists. Silvery brads would embellish any punches they threw. Black coattails fluttered alongside white ones. Sunlight teased the adornments on each one's eyepatch—wide lenses invading the middles. A signature treble clef tangled itself around the white-garbed man's, just as a bass clef hooked onto the black-clad twin's.

            Firearms flashed in their hands.

            "Hey, hold up…?" Loki wondered. He pointed at them. "Who're you guys?"

            "Aww~, Loki, I'm heartbroken!" the blue hedgehog whined.

            Promptly after came another swarm of Demons.

            "Sob about it later, bro," the green hedgehog snapped a little. "We've got Demons to slay, eh?" Fierce blues leered over his shoulder.

            Excited jades met them. "Yeah…!"

            Spiraling on a gale came a flurry of bullets. Without any more thought, the Wind Heralds had returned just to show off: They came to showcase their new weapons. Sun-kissed silver flickered bravely and in perfect rhythm to the twins' seemingly choreographed movements. Not missing a beat, Demon heads were impaled by gold bullets. Contoured handgrips were dotted with the twins' respective gems. One larger gem radiated a special halo that showed how the rounds were being fired; Angelic letters read "Semi-Auto." Shot after shot, the Demon legion had no choice but to yield to failure.

            Those guns alone had enough power to make a nation's armory blush.

            Left—right—up—even behind. That was how synchronized the Heralds were. Two-stepping down towards Solomon and Loki half the way until a double team of Hatred rushed in.

            Then, it was time to switch to faster artillery.

            "Bro!"

            "On it!"

            All the twins had to do was cock their weapons. This time, the Angelic letters read "Full-Auto." Aiming together, they smirked.

            "Eat this!"

            The last enemies was taken out flawlessly. Barrel smoke hinted past the twins' uncovered eyes. Cool winks were returned to Solomon.

            "My, my," the older Sage lauded them. "You've gotten a better grasp of your Chaos Powers, haven't you?"

            "Yep!" the blue hedgehog—Israfel A—chuckled.

            "Let's demonstrate," his twin brother—Israfel B—showed him and Loki a finger snap.

            A single glyph appeared at the Bridge's foot. It was massive, elegant, and flashing silvery-gold a couple times before splitting in two. A perfect division, but soon identical objects crashed through them.

            Israfel A and B hiked Solomon and Loki into their respective arms. Though, Loki had been slung onto B's shoulder. Israfel A signaled their gale-infused dash. "You ready, Papa?"

            Charmed, the older hedgehog smiled sweetly. "But of course."

            Following, Israfel B warned, "Yo, hang on, kiddo!"

            "Hey! Watch where you're groping, cuss!"—Poor Loki was less than impressed.—"What're ya—Wahh?!"

            Acrobatic vaults took the twins high into the air. Loki ended up clinging to B's neck, crying out almost reflexively, much to the Sage's annoyance. A more careful, yet slightly amorous, moment happened between A and Solomon. The bashful blush of an adolescent hero graced the blue hedgehog's cheeks as Solomon admired his reflexes. Coming up from behind were two motorcycles.

            Just in the nick of time, a time-flickering teleport brought the Wind Brothers and their passengers onto the driver seats. Israfel A manned the ivory Chopper-styled bike while Israfel B hopped down on the ebony-armored double. They sped off, gunning the throttle, to escape from one more Demon's clutches. In unquestionable gold, the plaques on each bike corresponded to each twin's inherent nature. A's plaque read "Knight of the Wind"; B's had "Fist of the Anvil".

            Loki clung to Israfel for dear life. "H-Hey, cuss…You know how to ride this thing?"

            "Of course, I do! Wouldn't be ridin' it if I didn't, now, would I?" He smirked a little. "Don't worry, short stuff. You're okay…Just hang on tight!" Gold whispers fashioned themselves into an ebony headset. He grabbed his brother's attention by using the microphone. "Yo! Bogie, at 6 o'clock!"

            "Roger! It's a long one, too!"

            A massive Infernal Demon slithered from its coil to chase down the Wind Heralds. Anger hid in its gruesome face. It let out a long, terrible hiss.

**Scolopendra**

_Infernal Demon Centipede_

            "What's up with the demon infestation, eh?" Loki cried over the turbulence.

            "It must have something to do with us making our way to Fimbulventr," Solomon answered. "I can't say the locks on Inferno's doors have loosened by accident, though."

            "You don't say…!" Then, Israfel A fired back to his twin, "Hey! Pass Loki to me!"

            "Gotcha!" He snatched up the boy's hood with almost no problem at all. "Here ya go!"

            "What the—Hey?! Wait, you can't just pitch me like I'm some—Gwah!"

            A bit carelessly, Loki wound up flying across the gap between both Sages. Quick thinking saved him from falling to his death by transforming into a flying squirrel. That glide's sharp turn hurled into right at Solomon's shoulder.

            Where another cloth arm awaited to catch him. Like a baseball mitt.

            Loki's visible huff was a cross between relief and agitation.

            "I'll hold it off! You get Jupiter to the Garden, no matter what!" Before any dissent could pass between them, Israfel B jetted off toward the crawling Demon.

            "You got it!" He refocused on the ride ahead. A greenish burst of wind shot Israfel A, Solomon, Loki, and the Neutral Chao back on track toward the mountain. Golden light energy guided them along. The bike's clean spokes glittering to the acceleration.

            Once they were out of his danger zone, the green hedgehog hopped up from the driver seat and balanced on it like a surfboard. He grinned. "Woohoo! Now, I can break out this bad boy!"

            A rearward kick popped a hatch on his bike's side compartment, and a huge barrel was discharged. Clearly reminiscent to Temperantia's "fingers," the weapon adjusted to Israfel's height difference to balance on his shoulder. Gilded machinations appeared for easier handling. A scope also materialized; Israfel's naked left eye peered into it.

            "I'll end you before you know what hit you…! Come at me, ugly bastard!"

            The centipede Demon let out another nasty hiss before zooming towards him.

            "I'd tell you to say your prayers…but y'know." A quick slide took the bike into a midair sideways skid. The Demon's fangs missed him by a wide margin, and Israfel was scraping along its underbelly. Gold sparks scratches against the light path that the headlight generated. Good upper strength rested the weapon across his shoulders. A sly wink activated Light Speed: Moving even faster now, he slung the cannon back onto his shoulder. Quickly, he aimed for the creature's belly.

            "Heh hah! Say goodbye! FABOAN!"

            Rapid-fire missiles clamored out one by one. Each one bearing an Angelic marble mask. Up and down the giant centipede's belly, the missiles violently exploded. Defeated screeches left the Demon's maws before Israfel made his way back up to greet it. He came in skidding, expertly sliding backward while aiming the cannon at its face.

            "I saved this one for you, doll-face…! See ya!"

            One more shell—fairly gold in the hazy light and bearing Temperantia's face—was ready to fire. A halo even hovered over its "head". Very angry in the face, it didn't have any qualms about charging directly into the monster's mouth and lodging itself in its throat. A hilarious classic, Israfel couldn't help snickering at his opponent's choking. "Man~, that _never_ gets old…!" Revving his throttle, he decided to make a clean getaway.

            Scolopendra collapsed atop the Bridge's length, trying to spit out the timed bomb. A dutiful prayer, then the missile released all its energy. It managed to take the Demon's front half with it.

            The blast caught up with Israfel, and it teetered his acceleration. Greenish vortexes took him higher, faster along the golden road, but he still had to duck his head. "Whoa! It's got more firepower than I thought! Better get outta here…!"

            Now at near-full throttle, a small greenish burst brought his bike into a wheelie. "Bang!" Another, bigger, one took him farther and even faster.

**Inside Mt. Fimbulventr** – A while after…

Solomon led the younger Sages into a vestibule-like area. Rocky edifices lined the hollow space. Ice mingled into the pillars, creating a glassy finish on each one. Strangely, as they journeyed inward, warmth welcomed them. Under their feet was bioluminescent moss; it even coated some niches in the walls. Mild fascination marked the green hedgehog's face as he peered at it. "Is it just me, or does it feel like we're moving downward…?" he heard his twin pipe up.

            "It's true, we are descending." Solomon's words came with a hint of urgency—maybe even impatience?

            Loki's little squirrel paws were still latched to Solomon's shoulder. His muzzle sniffed at the sling; it was still intact, but the Chao inside had gone completely silent.

            "Hey, is the little guy okay?" Loki chittered. "It ain't moved since we got here."

            Fatherly worry marked the senior Lumen's face. "Ah! Little one, are you al—?"

            In that briefest moment, shortly after lifting the sling's fold, something splattered against his face. It was enough to make Loki recoil, though Solomon found an interesting grade of chocolate caking his mouth. Its dessert plate slipped off his face's contours and fell to the ground.

            "Ah! What the heck—was that…?" Both twins looked at each other before blinking at the Chao escaping the sling.

            "Cake," came the Gleaner's blatant remark. He dabbed his mouth with a hand posing as a napkin. "It's Devil's food cake."

            Naughty snickers showed how tickled the Chao was. A mostly harmless joke, but it was getting a peculiar kick out of it—"It appears it's absorbed plenty of Infernal influence," the blindfolded Sage explained.—Jagged pearls made its bite look nasty. A pair of comical bat wings didn't go towards keeping it afloat. A spiky hot-pink "halo" bobbed at its laughter.

            After a sad sigh he finished with, "Thus, transforming into a Dark Chao."

            Irked a bit, Loki shifted back into his Human form after leaping from his perch. Huffing, he berated the prankster. "Hey! That was the cake _I_ offered you, ya lil' brat! So you _did_ take it! Why, I oughta—Gah?!"

            By magical means, the Dark Chao had conjured an arsenal of random desserts. Snickering underneath a scheme it hatched, it decided to use Loki as target practice. First, a parfait—then, a blueberry pie, by the smell of it—a milkshake—another pie—then, finally, a direct hit to the face by a messy strawberry crepe.

            Seeing Loki flop flat on his back, the Dark Chao laughed at him. It sounded thoroughly tickled by its prank and bobbed away from the Lumen Sages. It left the vestibule with no hint of returning.

            Loki recovered just fine, being asked if he was alright by the former priest's gentle, fatherly voice. He started to clean his face with softened appendages. Wobbly rings made his reaction looked unsteady. "Y-Yeah, love, I-I'm alright…."

            Oddly, the Israfel Twins were left in a haze of confusion. Solomon, however, had watched the Chao leave with a disheartened glower. A sigh and a clean face later, he encouraged the group to resume their path.

**Mt. Fimbulventr** , the **Garden of God** – A few moments later…

Deeper within the mountain's internal crags, Loki and his Lumen escorts reached a wondrous chamber. A lone island stood in its midst; the Gleaner was vaguely reminded of the Sunlit Halls in Paradiso. More shining moss coated the path leading to it. Unusual flowers thrived on it, as well as shores nearby.

            A hidden spring. No wonder it was so warm.

            Amazement marked the Wind Brothers' faces. They couldn't believe there was a hot spring so deep within Fimbulventr. It was comfortably steamy, and it seemed like the flowers liked it, too. Tropical in appearance, the white-garbed twin sniffed at it. Only to find himself unable to catch its scent.

            "Huh? I can't smell anything…?"

            "MEMORIES DON'T HAVE AROMAS, YOU NITWIT."

            Brilliant jades had flattened into offended slits. "Oh, yeah. Wait…Hey!"

            "I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU, SOLOMON. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

            Solomon returned with an apologetic bow before explaining himself: "Please forgive me, Sapientia. I did not mean to make you worry. An interruption held us up, so the Israfel Twins offered us a few extra hands."

            The Auditio of Wisdom didn't sound the slightest bit surprised. "REALLY? I THOUGHT I HEARD A COMMOTION OUTSIDE…."

            "If you heard a commotion, why didn't you come to help?!" Israfel A blurted out in agitation.

            An annoyed huff. "NONETHELESS, YOU'VE RETURNED SAFELY, GLEANER. I OWE MY THANKS TO _BOTH_ SETS OF TWINS, I SUPPOSE."

            Loki decided to pipe up next: "Hey, who are you two, anyways?" He pointed a half-accusatory finger at the Wind Brothers. "I ain't never seen you blokes before in my whole life."

            "We're more recent additions to the Lumen Clan," Israfel B replied nonchalantly.

            "Hah…Yeah, we're not quite newbies anymore, but we're pretty low on the totem pole compared to Sages like the Gleaner, the Sentinel, and Balder." Israfel A scratched his cheek a little.

            "Oh. Well, at least ya ain't get turned into cannon fodder…." Loki shrugged.

            "Hey, little man, we didn't die!" An anger vein pulsed at B's temple.

            "Yeah! We've got a 'touched by an Angel' story of our own, too, y'know!"

            Just as carelessly, Loki folded his hands behind his head. "Yeah, whatever…" he tossed out, sticking out his bottom lip.

            "Loki."

            Crisp, icy blues looked over to see Solomon. One familiarly elegant cloth-hand had extended to Loki, obliging and expectant. It was a mundane motion. Little to no thought went into it. But—somehow, someway—Loki was smitten by it. His adolescent heart went aflutter, even though he'd surpassed those years by the millennia. Hearts popped all over the place: Solomon's kind smile called him forward. That blindfold magnified the Sage's desirable mystique. Eggshell robes billowed in an intangible breeze. Gold-tipped boots glinted. To his touch, those cloth-hands felt like silk to the boy. Beautiful lilacs whispered under the breath Loki lost while his eyes wandered over the Lumen Sage's face; a slight, momentary discontent entered his own eyes.

            "All will be well, Sovereign One. I ask that you join me in future endeavors, aid me when I beckon…and please grant me permission to utilize your power."

            A furious blush took over the boy's face. "Wha—ah…? Y-Yeah, sure. I'll help…but don't this mean…?" He plumped his lips, an unseen power lifting him closer to Solomon's face. His eyes had gained a more romantic glisten. "…Th-that I'll get to be one with you?"

            Solomon's dread had returned to singlehandedly denounce Loki's assumption. "Mm-hmph…Ah, more or less." A sweat drop clung to his temple. "You're free to take that as you will."

            If Sapientia possessed a readable face, it'd be blank right about now. "NOW IS A GOOD TIME FOR YOU TWO TO LEAVE."

            "Yep, no time like the present!" Israfel A shoved his brother into leaving. "C'mon, bro. Let's go!"

            "Wha—What? What for?" B's eyebrows had dipped inward. "Hey, quit pushin' me! I can walk on my own!"

            "Then get to stepping, then!"

            "What is up with you? Why'd you suddenly get all defensive?"

            "Because…Solomon and Loki are gonna…umm…" A's explanation trailed off into his brother's ear. Under a cupped hand. In snippy breaths. And over a growing blush of his own.

            Once he finished, B was left utterly flabbergasted. His face had an indescribable reaction. "Wha—Wha—Ugh—Ah…! Augh! Bro, why did you tell me that?!"

            "Because that's what Sapientia told me!"

            "H-Huh?! What?!"

            "For real, I kid you not!"

            "Why'd he have to say it like _that?!_ "

            "How should I know?!"

            Meanwhile, the Auditio himself appeared to be mildly entertained. A mystical light flashed in his peripheral vision's corner, but the outcome of the twins' bickering seemed a bit more fascinating.

            "Dude. Not cool. Why did you tell me that?"

            "Why are you mad at me?!"

            "Now, I'm gonna hurtcha."

            "Hold up! Wait—No!"

            Suddenly, a perfectly circular hole was cut out of the mountainside. Dense layers went flying from the not-so-spontaneous combustion.

            " **YOLCAM PIAP POLA**!"

            Nearly identical motorbikes had crashed out of the mountain. Temperantia's likeness invaded the vehicles' appearance. More eggshell sheens coated Israfel A's "Knight of the Wind" than Israfel B's onyx "Fist of the Anvil". Nonetheless, familiar zephyrs blustered in their wake. B caught up with his brother's greenish gale in no time.

            "Why are you mad at _me?_ You should be mad at Sapientia!"

            "That's gross, man. You could've at least censored yourself…!"

            "Dude, no fair! Lay off, already!"

            "No way! You're mine!"

            The hole they cut was just the right angle from the Auditio's line of vision. Resting an arm on the island, he watched idly at the boys' horse-powered chase. Although the horses were purely mechanical, it was entertaining enough to him.

            "Aww…I know, right? I knew you had a thing for me—!"

            "Fuck you!"

            "Uh…Yes, please?"

            "Mrraaaaaaaggh!"

            Especially their most notable exchanges.

            Practically bored and expecting the outcome between Solomon and Loki, Sapientia's thoughts drifted. "THAT'S _REALLY_ ALL IT TOOK FOR THEM TO BELIEVE ME? HUH…I SHOULD LIE TO THEM MORE OFTEN."

 

* * *

_The light around Stylo darkened. Fear laced itself in; insecurity trapped his limbs. A scarlet aura stitched itself into his flesh. With spider-silk ribbons, the unsettling aura pulsed through his veins._

_"No…Wait…What is this? Where are these things taking me?"_

_They tangled, twisted, and kinked. Knobby knuckles locked bony fingers into place. Raptor talons threatened to disembowel him. They yanked on his legs and arms. They grabbed at his face, neck, shoulders, and quills._

_"No! Stop! Let me go!"_

_The Empyrean was leaving him, growing smaller and smaller in the sky…_

_"Help! Please help me! Save me…Save me!"_

* * *

 

**Elio** , on its prairie outskirts – **Around the same time** …

Stylo was startled awake. Daytime had pervaded the valley. Sunlight brought the grove nearby to life. Morning movement was in the trees, shrubs, and flowers. Bees buzzed. Birds warbled to the sun's rise. A deer had peered in his direction before sauntering off. Chipmunks nibbled on some fallen tree nuts at Stylo's feet.

            There with them was Libra, as well. He was busy examining their behavior; his puppy tail wagged back and forth as the translucent chipmunks filled their cheeks to maximum capacity. Giddy from seeing such a unique in action, he yapped, "Bye-bye!" at their departure.

            "Hah…hah…L-Libra?"

            On a moment's spur, magical sparkles enwrapped him. Glittering stardust veiled a transformation. The brief swirl revealed a preadolescent Libra: Golden locks still waved gently. Magus robes fluttered under rich burgundy scapulars. His Angelic helm sprouted in a diamond's shape. Intricate markings looped and curled inside, much like Devotion's clover and Passion's heart. They aspired to obtain Joy's spade-shaped helm. It was never on Libra's agenda, per se, but he cheered up at the thought of working with them to protect Stylo.

            They'd be there soon, he knew, so he tended to Stylo in the meantime.

            Impressed, the fledgling Sage smiled at the shapeshifter. "It really is you, huh, Libra?"—the Angel nodded with a smile—"Wow…You were a little puppy when we first met. But now, you've grown quite a bit. Angel years must go by a lot faster than human years, huh?" Seeing Libra face him again, he added, "Well, you can change your appearance at will, so I don't think that applies to you."

            A stillness floated between them. Strides away from them was another hamlet. It was one Stylo had visited once before. It was during a trip from Lucia on Father Nestor's behest. Traveling took its toll on him, but Father Sigmund insisted on piggybacking him the rest of the way. There, he learned about Elio and the village after whom it was named. Children at the schoolhouse there had praised their arrival; Stylo remembered how happy they were to see him, specifically.

            He'd never met them before. So, he prompted him to ask: "Libra, are you a patron Angel of some kind?"

            The boy-Angel shook his head.

            The hedgehog scratched his head a little. "Huh…I would've guessed you were an Angel that protected children. I must have you mistaken for someone else? Maybe…?" He blinked at the tiny shires on the hill's crest. "They were just happy to see all the food we had for them, probably. Heh heh…!"

            "Yeah, yeah!" Libra agreed.

            "So, Libra?"—Stylo chuckled at the Angel barreling in place, midair—"Are you here because the Gleaner told you to be? Who is he, anyway? He was…very beautiful, and I got a strange fatherly vibe from him…? Did you?"

            Suddenly, Libra took up the fledgling's hands. He guided them up to his face, and nuzzled Stylo's palms lovingly. A bit flabbergasted, Stylo flinched at the surprising warmth. It was comfortable—comforting, even. Like an adorable child, he cooed and purred a bit. It was odd, but somehow Stylo's heart warmed to the expression of…?

            Was it love?

            "Papa…Papa…"

            Stylo caught the designation. Was it for him? "Wait, you don't mean _me_ …do you, Libra?"

            "Papa…? Papa!"

            Another transformation took place. In a literal "pop" of stardust and glitter, Libra's preadolescent form had reverted into an infantile one. His helmet had disappeared, as did his robes and most of his rich goldilocks. They'd been reduced to a burgundy swaddle and tightly packed curls—appearing very cherubic. Stylo wasn't expecting it and threw his arms out to catch the baby. "Ah! Libra!" he yelped. "Oof!" Then, landing flat on his face and chest.

            "Wah!" The baby-Angel wailed loudly there over the Sage's head. "Baba! Baba~!"

* * *

"Shh, shh…It's okay, Libra. Don't cry."

            Stylo found himself with-child. Or, rather, with a child. Either way, he found himself rocking little Libra to sleep. In the middle of listening to Libra's homesick whimpers, Stylo remembered that he'd cling to the Gleaner sometimes. From the sound and feel of the senior Lumen, the Gleaner was in favor of most of Paradiso's Hierarchy. Almost like a favorite toy they all wanted to play with, but were scared to break.

            Stylo tossed out such a mundane idea for something more intrinsic: _"What merit does the Gleaner hold? It sounds like he's a very powerful Sage…In fact…"_

            Clear citrines looked back on the battle between the Sentinel and Jyeshta. _"Back then, the Sentinel's aura nearly matched an Angel's…but the Gleaner_ definitely _had one! Which means, he's even stronger than the Sentinel! But…"_ The near-murderous intent in the warrior-Sage's eyes had terrified Stylo. _"I could never go up against the Sentinel in combat. He'd kicked my butt all the way up to the North Pole."_

            Finally, Libra had dozed off. He looked so comfortable in Stylo's arms, it was hard to put him down. Nonetheless, the white hedgehog set the baby down in his place. The Angel behaved just like a Human baby. It was so unusual, but Stylo couldn't resist putting his finger in that tiny hand. The grip was unbelievable—just like a new mother and father would say.

            He remembered Anahit, just then.

_"Is my mother…just as strong?"_

            Stepping away for a moment, Stylo looked up at the sky. Morning shined on, without a worry or care. He summoned his own weapon—the one beautified by the Sentinel, himself. A grand golden longbow, encrusted by a brilliant aquamarine on each end. Gently, he took it into his hands and prayed.

            "O, Holy Mother. Please guide me down the path that is best to take. I care no longer if it is safe or perilous; whether it is easy or difficult. I need to get stronger. I need to know more about my past. If it is as my mother says, that I am…a Halfling, then…please guide down the path that will serve me greatest."

            Almost on cue, a Dark Chao had appeared from behind a tree. Uninterested eyes stayed on the praying acolyte. It waddled out and waited a moment. It took note of its surroundings: Stylo posed no virtual threat to it. Libra, on the other hand, could, but he'd taken on a cherubic form. From what it could discern, Stylo had let down his guard and was open for attack. But the Dark Chao's eyes didn't hint at murderous intent.

            "There you are…Cutie-Sage."

            Stylo's ear twitched, and he spun around—bow drawn, but the arrow of light couldn't find its target. It didn't have one. Stylo's eyes swapped around the field. A low growl. "I know you're there. Come on out, or I'll pierce you where you stand!"

            A baby's hiccup.

            "Ah! Libra, are you o—?!"

            There. In front of his face. A dark aura grappled Stylo's shoulders and seized him. He'd spun back around, only to face a pair of poisonously cyan eyes. The Chao was fun-sized and adorable, but far from innocent. He recognized the bowtie, as well as its little bat wings and spiky halo.

            It spooked him to the core. It was enough to lose hold of his weapon.

            He gasped, "Oh no…!"

            Suddenly, a rush of breath assailed his face. A sparkly light-blue powder made its way into Stylo's passageways, making him cough and sneeze. "Gah…Agh…Not again…!"

            "Yep, again. Much to my derision."

            Stylo found himself unable to hold his gaze on the creature. Its less-than-pleased expression didn't move much. "I got scared…by a doll? Wait…you're Victoria's…?!"

            "Splendid. You recognized my doll, Cheese." There was a total lack of surprise in her tone, however. "Now, be a good little boy and come with me."

            By that mere command, Stylo had become entranced. A lethargic glow emanated from the rims of his irises; his sclera expressed a light-blue tinge. Mental numbness pacified his nerves. Just enough to propel him into a red-and-black spell circle. There was a loss of regard for Libra, who'd been brought to tears and wailing out "Baba! Baba! Wahh!" to anyone who would hear. His weapon, left aglow from the baby's energy.

            Unfortunately, Stylo couldn't retrieve it. He'd already disappeared into the sinister portal.

_In the Rape of Proserpine, Amen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copied from FF.Net: I've used the word "rape" in terms of literary allegory. Even so, Stylo was never hauled by anyone, I suppose. It serves as an allusion to what happened to Prosepine, Roman counterpart of Persephone, when she was "raped" by Pluto/Hades. It continues on in two more parts, but I've having a hard time putting everything together, at the moment. Although, I am proud of myself for getting this chpt out—finally!
> 
> Well then. Demons, and Angels, and Libra—Oh my! Stylo saves a baby, but goes back to being a captured princess again... He'll get his long-overdue comeback...! The Wind Brothers can't keep their hands off each other, lol! Apparently, there's a huge age gap between Solomon and Loki, lol! Temperantia was reincarnated as a pair of Chopper-style motorcycles, and Sapientia's still being a discourteous snoot to everyone, except Solomon.
> 
> I feel like I've forgotten something...Stay tuned—and remember: Reviews are awesome!


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